


The Old Bog Road

by EndoratheWitch



Category: Strange Magic (2015), The Quiet Man - Fandom
Genre: 1920s, Drinking, F/M, Fighting, Gaelic Language, Ireland, Matchmaking, Period Typical Attitudes, Returning Home, Scotland, Stranger in a Strange Land, Yankee, farmer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 59,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26688598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndoratheWitch/pseuds/EndoratheWitch
Summary: Bog returns home to Ireland.
Relationships: Bog King/Marianne (Strange Magic)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 46





	1. Returning Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Katrinaprime123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katrinaprime123/gifts).



> Based off the John Wayne movie "The Quiet Man"

1920’s Ireland 

The train pulled up to the station with large plumes of smoke puffing from the engine into the fresh morning spring air. The squeal of the brakes and wheels slowly silenced as the train came to a stop. A man looked out the window from his seat on the train. He wore his nicest grey slacks, a dark blue shirt with a red tie, navy tweed vest and tan jacket, and a flat cap on his head to keep the stubborn strands of his black hair down. His blue eyes widened in amazement, his heart doing a skip. He was almost home. 

The station, Castletown, was unlike the train stations that Bog was accustomed to in America; it was quiet. No one was waiting on the platform except for an elderly woman with a shawl around her shoulders that fell down the entire length of her body, more blanket than shawl, but she had a kind face, along with a couple of men in uniform, probably station hands. 

Bog yawned as he stood, stretching as much as he could in the cramped space, his height making being really comfortable nearly impossible. The train was already running late--by three hours Bog reckoned--but he wasn’t in any real hurry. He had come home to the place where he was born, the home of his mother and father, the place that his mother had woven into a fairytale of sorts with her stories, the stories he had grown up on. 

His parents had met long ago at a horse meeting near here, along the Old Bog Road as his mother always told it, the Scottish soldier on his way home to Scotland who ran into an Irish maid with a fiery temper. They had been a match made in heaven and moved into a little home in the Irish town of Innisfree where his father became a farmer and his mother a housewife. Their little home sat near the same road where they had first met, until they decided to take their young son and tried to make their fortunes in America. 

Bog grinned as he grabbed his bags and hurried off the train. 

The moment Bog was off the train--more unfolding himself from the confines of the train onto the platform--he set down his sleeping bag and suitcase, the railway porter called out with a question in his voice. “Castletown?” as if he wasn’t sure the tall, slender muscled giant of a man getting off the train knew where he was. “Castletown?” The man called again, but as Bog turned around the elder woman he’d seen on the platform walked over, as well as the train guard and the engine driver, the small group of them converging on him like curious sparrows. 

Bog turned his attention to the station porter. “Can you tell me the way to Innisfree?” 

Just as the man opened his mouth, the train guard, a slender man in round glasses, grinned. “Ah, Innisfree is five miles and maybe a half more from here.” He turned and pointed down the road that led from the station. “Ye see that road over there?” 

Bog, following the man’s outstretched arm, nodded. “Yeah.” 

The man shook his head. “Well don’t take that one, it’ll do ye no good. Now the best road to Innisfree and many to walk…” 

“Ahh...now…” The porter, a much younger man shook his head. “Now if it’s Innisfree that you want? Be saving your breath, Mr. Maloney! Let me direct the gentleman.” The porter shook his head at the other man before turning his attention to Bog again. “Happen you know the way to Knockanure?” 

Mr. Maloney shoved his glasses up his nose and growled at the porter. “Well, if he knew the way to Knockanure, would he be asking the way to Innisfree when it’d be just beyond!” 

The porter calmly shook his head at Mr. Maloney. “There’s be many knows Knockanure that don't know Innisfree. And if you’d take the time to study your country’s history, Mr. Maloney, ye’d be the first to admit it.” 

While the porter was lecturing Mr. Maloney, two more older men, who by their uniforms clearly worked on the train, quickly walked over to join the conversation. One of these newcomers was an older man, perhaps old enough to be Bog’s grandfather, dressed in a train engine driver’s jacket and hat, shook his head, his accent thicker than either the porter and the train guard, drawing Bog’s attention. “No. Don’t be sendin’ the poor man to Knockanure! The fishing’s finished there entirely!” The old man turned his attention to Bog and reached up to give him a friendly pat on the shoulder and giving him an interesting stare. “Tell me yank, what is it yer after, it is trout or salmon?” 

Bog, trying to keep the humor out of his voice smile, but struggling a little, said, “All I’m wanting is to get to Innisfree.” 

The old man laughed giving Bog’s shoulder a robust shake. “Ah, now yer talkin sense! The best fishing in the country!” 

“Oh true for you Mr. Costello!” the older woman called out. 

Mr. Costello nodded enthusiastically, his grip on Bog’s shoulder surprisingly strong for an older man. “Trout as long as yer arm!! And the salmon!!” The old man grinned brightly up at Bog. “The last one I got, I was expecting Jonah to pop out of his mouth!!” Costello laughed and Bog smiled, chuckling along while at the same time his eyes shot over longingly for the road. Bog had a sense he was about to be stuck at the train station for a long while. 

“Ah Innisfree…” Costello continued. “I’d bring ye there meself, only I’ve got to drive the train.” 

The old man turned his attention to the other man who’d come up with him, the engine’s assistant. “Was I telling you about that trout I got two Sundays before last?” 

The other man nodded. “Aye, ye did.” 

Bog tried again. “Innisfree?” 

The train driver laughed. “Not at all, not at all! Now at Ballygar, over at the other end of the country.” 

The older woman smiled and interjected into the conversation, “Me sister’s third young one is living in Innisfree, and she'll only be too happy for to show you the road…” 

Bog’s face lit up. “Really?” 

“Oooh, if she was here,” the old woman added with an apologetic smile. 

Another man who had suddenly joined the conversation from seemingly nowhere added. “It’s Innisfree he wants to go?” 

Mr. Maloney grabbed Bog’s arm and pushed him past their small crowd. “Do you see that sign post there..?” He pointed. 

Someone quickly added. “You know it’s been turned about.” 

Bog felt as if he had just been captured and would now be stuck in a long, endless loop of conversations with fishing stories and people who actually knew the way to Innisfree, but were not there to lead him. While Bog stood there, unsure what to do or where to go, the group around him began to argue about the best fishing and the best way to find oneself in Innisfree when a man popped from around the corner of the train station house. 

The older man had big hazel eyes and was wearing a brown tweed suit with a brown bowler hat that melded well with his slightly darker brown hair, and he had a pipe sticking out of his mouth. 

He briskly walked over and simply picked up the sleeping bag and suitcase that Bog had brought off the train with him before he turned around and walked off. 

Bog caught sight of the short man just as he turned around the corner with Bog’s luggage. Bog spared a glance at the small crowd around him who were now so deeply involved in arguing about the best way to Innisfree and the best fishing that they weren’t paying attention to anything else, including Bog. 

Bog turned his attention back to the man stealing his luggage, glancing back at the crowd with him who didn’t seem to notice a thing. The man with his luggage stopped just inside the station house, set down the suitcase, pulled the pipe out of his mouth, and stated loudly, his attention on Bog. “Innisfree--this way.” He picked up Bog’s luggage again and walked off. 

Bog looked at the small crowd who were now paying no attention to him at all before he hurried off after the man with his luggage. 

Just as Bog turned to go the crowd caught sight of him and quickly followed after him. 

Bog walked through the station and through one of the windows he saw the short man carrying his luggage over to a jaunting cart, an open cart drawn by one horse that could seat two to four people. The little man began loading Bog’s luggage onto the cart without a care in the world. 

Bog grinned and hurried to catch up, his long legs propelling him quickly. 

While Bog got up onto the cart with the short man, Costello, the porter, the train guard, one of the engineers, and the old woman from the platform all watched, Costello muttering. “I wonder now why a man would go to Innisfree?” 

All of them exchanged looks and shook their heads having no idea why either. 

* 

Bog and the short man rode in silence for only a little while, the short man puffing on his pipe before he glanced over at Bog and asked. “Six five?” 

Bog , his mouth slightly open in wonder, his blue eyes wide, answered without looking over. “Six six.” 

The man snickered, shaking his head. “Ah...damn…” 

Bog smirked, pulling out his cigarettes from his jacket, along with his matches. He struck the match against the sole of his shoe before lighting the cigarette, his eyes barely straying from the landscape about him. He had never seen anything so beautiful as the countryside here. Everything was emerald green, just like his mother had described it, green and lush. 

He smiled and took a drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke and the scenery relax him. This was just what he had wanted. 

The little man sucked on his pipe for a moment before he said loudly. “Cincinnati.” 

“Nope.” Bog chuckled. “Pittsburgh.” 

“Ah, see I knew that was it, knew it Pittsburgh.” The man grinned brightly, his hands resting gently on the horse's reins. 

Bog chuckled and said no more. 

* 

They rode along a dirt road for another half hour, give or take, in companionable silence, crossed a stone bridge that had a soft, meandering river flowing underneath it when Bog saw something that made him reach out and grab the other man’s arm. “Stop here.” 

The little man in the bowler hat frowned, looking perplexed, but he brought the horse to a stop on the bridge. 

Bog jumped off, tossing the remains of his cigarette down and crushing it beneath his shoe, though his eyes never left the scene in front of him. He started walking along the bridge, stopping a little ways from the cart to sit along the side of the bridge, staring at the stone cottage nearly buried by overgrown grasses and ancient trees, under the welcome shadow of a grass covered hill. Bog pressed his lips together. He could hear his mother’s thickly accented voice whispering to him from the past. “Don’t you remember it Boggy, and how it was? The road, the Old Bog Road that led up past the chapel, and it wound and it wound, and there was the field where Dan Tobin’s bull chased you.” 

Bog looked over, following the winding turns of the Old Bog Road as it led into the village of Innisfree. Bog heard his mother’s laugh, could hear the sound as clearly as if she were standing right next to him. The sound filled his ears, followed by the lyrical sound of his father’s Scottish accented voice and laughter. “Ye ran like the wind boy, even though you were a few little things…” Bog swallowed hard, their faces coming to his mind’s eye. He heard the sound of church bells coming from the town, the soft clang mixing with the memory of his mother’s voice. “It was a lovely little house Boggy. Oh Bog, my little bug, the roses!! Your father used to tease me about them…” 

The sound of his father’s voice mixed with the voice of his mother. “Aye I did, but I was proud of them mo chridhe. Ye always had a green thumb.” 

Bog murmured under his breath, barely a whisper as he stared at the stone cottage. “White O’Morn.” 

The little man in the cart was watching Bog with a curious frown. The man hadn’t offered his name yet and so Thaine Oge Flynn didn't offer his either. He couldn’t figure out why a Yank would sail all the way over here to look at a rundown stone cottage in Innisfree of all places, and without a fishing pole. When the man seemed disinclined to move from where he sat on the bridge, Thaine called out. 

“Ah, that’s nothing but a wee humble cottage…” His voice began soft because he remembered the family that lived there. 

Bog looked at the cottage for a few more seconds before he finally stood, walking back over to the cart and pulled himself up, back to his seat. He pointed at the cottage. 

“That humble cottage, you know who owns it now?” He turned to the little man. 

“The widow Elizabeth Tillane, not that she lives there,” the other answered. 

Bog rubbed his lips together still staring at the cottage before he asked. “Think she’ll sell it?” 

The little old man shook his head. “I doubt it.” 

Bog grinned, his gaze never wavering from the cottage as he said with conviction. “Don’t bet on it, ‘cause I’m buying it.” 

Thaine wrinkled his nose in confusion, turning to look at the tall, slender Yank. “Now, why would a Yankee from Pittsburgh want to buy it?” 

Bog chuckled, surprising Thaine as he put his arm around the short man’s shoulders. “I’ll tell you why Thaine Oge Flynn, because a young, small Thaine Flynn used to wipe my runny nose when I was a kid, because I’m Bog King and I was born in that little cottage over there and I’ve come home, and home I’m gonna stay.” 

Thaine stared at Bog for a long few seconds before he broke into a snaggle tooth grin as shocked surprise washed over him along with recognition of the little boy now turned into a man. 

Bog laughed patting the other man’s back. “So, now does that answer your questions once and for all, you nosy little man?” 

Thaine was nearly in tears. “Bog Seaneen King! What the hell happened? You were just a wee little thing…” He shook his head. “What happened to ye? Saints preserve us!!! What do they feed you Irishmen in Pittsburgh? You’re...you’re...” Thaine lost his words instead indicating how tall the little boy he remembered had grown into a tree of a man. 

Bog laughed. “Steel, steel and pig iron furnaces so hot a man forgets his fear of hell.” A shadow crossed Bog’s face, his voice becoming strained with an emotion that Thaine didn’t quite understand. “...when you’re hard enough, tough enough...other things…” 

Thaine smiled reaching up to pat Bog’s cheek. “Well, you grew into a fine looking man. I had my doubts there, ye were such a gangly little boy, all arms, legs and ears, OH and that nose of yours, but look at you now.” 

Thaine shook his head in amazement. “Wait until I tell the wife!” 

Bog chuckled. “How is Mrs. Flynn?” 

“Oh you know, Steffi is about the same as always, fussing at me about my drinking and spending too much time at the pub.” Thaine laughed. “Told her if I didn’t get into trouble, her life would be dull, but I don’t think she finds it as funny as I.” 

Bog chuckled, shaking his head. “So in all the years I’ve been gone, neither of you’ve changed?” 

“Not a bit, not a bit!” Thaine laughed. He started the horses moving and added. “I think this is a cause for celebrating!! The missus can’t be getting mad at me stopping at the pub to celebrate the return of one of our own now, can she?” 

Bog chuckled shaking his head. If memory served, he knew that Mrs. Steffi Flynn was not a woman to be trifled with, but he had never seen two people more in love except maybe his parents. 

“Well, lead the way Thaine Flynn, lead the way, and after a drink take me to see the Widow,” Bog said with a grin as the horse began to move off the bridge, following the Old Bog Road into Innisfree. 

Thaine chuckled and shook his head. 

* 

The drive into town was beautiful. Bog gazed out at the green, lush landscape, small memories of being a young boy here returning to him. He saw the Celtic stone cross along the side of the road, one he remembered hiding behind as a boy. He felt a sense of peace fall over him that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. As they made their way along the road, Bog spotted a figure in black walking leisurely along. 

Thaine brought the horse and cart to a stop alongside the man who Bog realized was a religious man dressed all in black with the white collar of his station around his throat. The man was youngish, maybe around Bog’s age, perhaps a few years older, it was hard to say, but his hair was white blonde and his features were open with a bright smile. 

Thaine tipped his hat. “Good afternoon Father. Bog this is Father Ian Lonergan.” 

Bog put his hand out and Father Lonergan reached out to take his hand as Thaine continued. “Father would you believe it, this here is Bog King, born right here in Innisfree, home from America!” 

Bog smiled, shaking the other man’s hand. “Hello Father.” 

Father Lonergan nodded smiling. “Ah yes, the Kings. I knew your people.” He frowned slightly. “Your grandfather died in a penal colony in Australia. Your father was a good man though. I heard about the accident. How’s your mother?” 

Bog frowned, his expression darkening, and his voice held just the hint of a threat warning the father that he was about to tread on ground that Bog would rather not walk on. “She’s dead. Died in America when I was fifteen.” 

Father Lonergan nodded, frowning softly, clearly sad at the news even though her death occurred twenty years ago. “I’ll remember her in the mass tomorrow Bog. Shall you be there? Seven o’clock?” 

Bog nodded. “I’ll be there.” 

Father Lonergan smiled. “Good, good. Bog do you mind, I need to have a word with Thaine here…” 

Bog smiled, hopping easily down from the cart. “Sure thing...” 

“It’ll only take a minute, just a little matter…” Father Lonergan continued, but Bog just pointed. “I’ll just walk ahead.” He immediately started to walk away, his long legs putting quite a bit of distance between him and the father in only a few seconds. 

Bog pulled out a cigarette as he walked, his mind already somewhere else. 

Father Lonergan watched Bog walk away as Thaine slipped down to the ground and walked around the cart to stand beside the Father. 

* <>As Bog walked, he heard the sound of a dog barking. He glanced over as he meandered off the road with a smile as the dog, a beautiful collie, barked at a herd of fluffy black faced sheep that had wandered in among the trees. The dog was trying its best to drive the herd where it wanted them to go. 

Bog chuckled, stopping by a large tree to light a match against the sole of his shoe again and hold the flame to his cigarette as he watched the dog and the sheep, only to go stiff as he saw the most beautiful woman he had ever seen come walking barefoot along the side of the herd. 

She had long brown hair with just a hint of red in the highlights of the sun. She wore a shirt of dark purple, the sleeves of which she had rolled up to her elbows, and a skirt of red with a dark blue apron wrapped around her hips. She carried a walking stick as she moved along beside the herd, humming softly. 

She stopped and turned as if sensing eyes on her. 

Bog couldn’t seem to move. 

Never in his life had he seen a more beautiful woman. She looked as if she had stepped out of one of the fairy stories his mother would tell him when he was young. The light caught her large brown eyes and made them glow like gold. She stared back at him, taking a few steps backwards before she turned away, only to turn again and look over her shoulder at him. 

Bog’s heart beat loudly in his ears as he stared at her. Did she smile at him? He couldn’t be sure, but he thought she did. He watched her as she drove the sheep, stopping to turn again, their eyes meeting. 

Bog never believed in love. His parents had been in love yes, but love wasn’t for the likes of him, and he definitely didn’t believe in love at first sight, but… 

Bog was in love. 

He was startled out of his staring after the fairy princess of a woman by Thaine yelling. “BOG!” 

Bog jumped a foot, turning around just as Thaine and the cart came up along the road. Bog hurried over and pulled himself up onto the cart though his eyes immediately found the beautiful woman further along in the field with her sheep. 

He murmured as if spellbound, his eyes on the beauty. “Is that real?” he asked in awe. “She couldn’t be real…” he whispered. Thaine made a face, wrinkling his nose. “Nonsense! It's only a mirage brought on by your terrible thirst.” Thaine smirked and set the horse to going, but Bog turned to watch the beautiful woman disappear into the hills, catching her looking back toward him once more until he was out of sight. 

* 

The little town of Innisfree was made up of brick and stone homes, all looking as if they hadn’t changed in centuries. People turned to stare at Thaine and his cart, their eyes on the strange, tall man with him. Clearly, Innisfree was not used to strangers. 

Thaine pulled his cart up to a white washed building with a large green and gold sign across the top of the door that read: Pat Cohan BAR. 

There were several people standing around outside the bar and a few along the sidewalk, and every eye had turned to stare at Bog. 

Bog felt on display as he slipped down from the cart, but he tried not to let the feeling bother him. These were going to be his people, his neighbors, and he still had family here that he needed to find. His mother’s sister, Gobinet still lived here, even though Bog’s uncle had died years ago and last he had heard his cousins, Suileabhan, who Bog had always called Sunny and his sister Aurnia lived here still...at least that was what he hoped. 

He figured it would take a while for him to fit in, but he hoped it wouldn’t take too long. He longed to rest, to find some peace and quiet. That was all he wanted--a life of peace. 

Thaine dropped down from the cart moving to stand alongside Bog. He saw Bog look up at the sign and Thaine announced loudly. “Over here we pronounce it co-han.” He walked across the cobblestone street to the brightly painted green door. He opened the door, glanced over his shoulder at Bog, and proceeded inside. 

Bog chuckled, shaking his head as he grabbed his bag from the cart and followed Thaine inside the bar, all eyes on him as he went. 

No one followed them inside as Thaine led Bog over to the bar. The bartender, an older man with a snow white beard and a bald head, lifted a bushy brow when he saw Thaine enter with the stranger. 

Thaine smiled. “Two gins, my fine sir.” He glanced over at Bog. “A drink before I take ye to see the widow.” 

Bog chuckled. “Maybe a stop at the church on the way too. A little prayer never hurt anything either.” 

The bartender stared at Bog as he poured the two shots and set them down by Thaine who nodded and picked up his drink. “Too true, too true. I suspect that the hand of God is the only way yer going to get the Widow Tillane to sell that land to you.” 

Bog walked over and picked up his own drink, downing it in one shot without even flinching. Thaine blinked, clearly impressed as he quickly did the same only to have his eyes turn red, his voice coming out in a choke. “All right then, now that we’ve gotten ourselves a little strength, let’s go seek some holy intervention and then I’ll take you to see the Widow.” 

* 

The sound of the church bells chimed, echoing across the countryside and through the town, calling the flock to afternoon prayers. 

As Bog walked into the little church, he noticed there were only a small handful of people here, mostly older folks, all with their heads bent in prayer. Bog sat down quietly on an old, polished wooden pew. The old stone church was filled with the scent of candles and incense, stirring reminders of his youth when his mother had made him go to church. He smiled at the memory of his father giving him amusement as his mother growled under her breath about both of them staying still. 

Bog took a deep breath, looking up at the stained glass, his eyes burning with unshed tears as he thought of his mother and father before he stood, went down on a knee in front of the altar for a moment before he turned to leave, nearly stopping short when he saw her, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, sitting in a pew not two rows behind him. Their eyes locked as Bog slowly moved past. 

She turned to watch him go, her eyes a little wide. 

* ,p>Outside the church Thaine sat in the cart smoking his pipe as he waited, frowning when he saw Bog exit, only to see the tall man hover around the entrance like he was looking for something. Bog waited as finally the pretty brunette with the red streaked hair came out of the church. She was dressed the same as she had been in the field, though this time she wore a pair of simple brown shoes instead of being barefoot. She had her shawl up around her head, but as she stepped out into the sun she lowered the cloth and the sun captured the red highlights in her brown hair setting her on fire. Bog felt his heart leap into his throat at the sight of her. 

He hurried over as she turned toward the church stoop. 

Bog had no idea what he was doing except he needed to see her, to speak to her, something. They both stopped at the stoop, both going still. Bog blanked for a moment, having removed his hat which he pressed hard against his chest, then he did the first thing that came to his mind. 

He dipped his hand into the holy water, scooping some of it up into his hand and held it out to her. 

“Good morning,” he said softly. 

The young woman stared up at him, her large brown eyes wide, but then she slowly looked down at his hand of cupped holy water, surprising herself as she dipped her fingers into the water. She said not a word as she quickly crossed herself before rushing around Bog and taking off at a sprint down the dirt path from the church, stopped once and turned around to look at him, a smile--a small, hesitant smile--on her pretty lips before she turned and ran off. 

Bog watched her with a goofy lopsided smile on his face. He watched her until she disappeared out the gate before he turned his attention to Thaine and hopped back up into the cart. Thaine gave Bog a disapproving look as he puffed on his pipe before removing his pipe to scold the younger man. “Now none of that, none of that Bog Sean King! It’s a bold, sinful man you are Bog Sean King. And who taught you to be playing patty fingers in the holy water?! Yer poor mother, God bless her soul, she’d be rolling in her grave to know you were playing in the holy water with a pretty young woman.” 

Bog chuckled as he slipped his hat back on. “I was just being polite…” 

“Polite is it? Polite!” Thaine’s voice rose an octave as he added. “Maybe you don’t know being an American and all, but it’s a privilege reserved for courting couples and then only when the banns has been read, ye heathen.” Thaine shook his head even as Bog chuckled. “And Marianne Kate Danaher dipping her fingers in as neat as you please. Ye’d never see her little sister acting like that.” 

Bog turned to look at Thaine, his voice soft. “What did you say her name was?” 

“Marianne Danaher, and don’t you be getting any notions into that thick head of yours Bog King.” Thaine pointed at Bog with his pipe. 

Bog was staring off the way Marianne had gone. “Marianne…” he said her name like a prayer. 

Thaine sighed. “Forget it Bog. Put it out of your mind entirely.” 

Bog suddenly looked stung. “She’s not married is she?” He thought his heart might break if she was. 

“No, no, nothing like that,” Thaine muttered. “Not likely, she’s got a temper that one…” He shook his head. “Now her little sister, just as sweet as honey, but her?” He shook his head again. “You saw the red in her hair, hidden among the chestnuts? That red there is no lie, she has a temper that is legendary.” He shrugged. “Though I suppose she might be worth putting up with, but she lacks a fortune…” 

Bog smiled and said her name again softly. “Marianne…” 

* 

Down at the end of the lane, just outside the church yard, hidden by the gate pillar, Marianne spied on the new handsome man in town. She bit into her bottom lip as she watched him. He was taller than any man she had ever seen, tall and slender, his body like a knife. He was muscular in a lean way that made her think of fairy princes in stories, or knights that rode on horseback fighting with elegant blades. Not that she went for that sort of thing, she reminded herself. He was all sharp edges like a cliffside, with a long elegant nose and sharp chin, but his smile was all soft and sensual, and his lips were… 

Marianne reminded herself that these were not the sort of thoughts to be having right outside the church!! But her eyes strayed back to the stranger, her gaze gliding over his hair, like a dark storm at night and then there were his eyes. She had seen them when she saw the man in the field and just now even in the dimness of the church, his eyes! His eyes were like the spring sky, a blue so bright it almost hurt to look into them. She felt her heart pounding hard as she gazed at him. He was like no man she had ever seen before and she felt a tickle in her belly such as she had never felt before… 

No man, not even that ridiculous--if handsome--Roland Knight who kept trying to court her, had made her feel the way this man had with one glance. 

The way he stared at her!! It was positively indecent! But she wanted him to look at her that way again, Marianne realized as she ran her teeth over her bottom lip, her eyes trailing down his long, lean body. 

Marianne smiled, blushing until she was sure her ears were red, pressing her lips together before she turned and grabbed her bicycle that she had left leaning against the iron fence of the church and hurried home. 

She couldn’t wait to tell her sister about the handsome stranger. 

* 

The widow Tillane, Thaine informed Bog as they left the church, was the wealthiest woman in Innisfree. She lived in a fair sized manor house built by her deceased husband’s family back in 1821. Thaine informed Bog that the poor woman had no children of her own, but she was respected in town and had always been good to the poor. She was well loved and well liked, which was not a common combination. 

Thaine figured the only reason the widow was willing to see Bog on such short notice was curiosity to see the giant American (the story of the Yankee had spread quickly.) So it was within short order of their arriving to call on her at her home, the widow Tillane agreed to see Bog King. 

* 

The study in which she saw Bog and Thaine was large and grand, filled with expensive furniture, old paintings, and large windows that let in the sunlight. It was, Bog thought, probably the largest room he had ever been in outside of a sporting arena. They found the widow sitting behind a desk waiting for them. 

She was an older woman, somewhere in her fifties, with short greying dark hair, but still a handsome woman who held herself ramrod straight and bearing the expression of a woman who did not suffer fools. 

She listened intently as Bog made his case for buying the land from her that held the cottage in which he had been born. She said not a word as he spoke and her face gave away no expression to what she was thinking. 

“So, you were born there, is that it?” she asked with only a hint of doubt in her voice, after Bog finished, folding her hands on top of her desk. Elizabeth Tillane smirked a little, her voice suddenly becoming cold. “So what are your plans then? To turn White O’Morn into a national shire?” She quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“What?” Bog was taken aback by the sudden coldness in her demeanor. 

“Or perhaps you wish to charge a tuppence a visit for a guided tour of the little cottage where your family was born? Are you a man of such eminence?” Elizabeth Tillane narrowed her eyes at Bog. 

Bog looked over at Thaine clearly unsure what to do or say before he turned back to the widow who continued. “My own family…” she said firmly. “...has been in Ireland since the Normans came some hundreds of years ago, but there are no monuments or memorials to us and we see no reason for them either….” 

Bog frowned, his voice coming out with more of a growl than he intended, but her cold attitude and her implication that he thought so highly of himself and his family as to build monuments had annoyed him. “Mrs. Tillane, I’m not wanting to build monuments or memorials. It’s just that...well…” He swallowed letting some of the intensity of his feelings come through “...ever since I was a kid, ever since we moved away from here, living in a shack near the slag heaps, my mother and father told me stories of Innisfree and White O’Morn. I’ve relived my memories of this place from when I was but a little boy, and the stories my parents told me, they have gotten me through the dark times of my life…” He closed his eyes for a moment before he added. “Innisfree became another word for heaven to me. When I quit…” He caught himself before he said too much, quickly changing the course of his speech. “When I decided to come here, it was with one thought in mind, I wanted peace…” 

Mrs. Tillane chuckled dismissively. “Innisfree is far from heaven.” 

Bog opened his mouth to argue with the wretched woman when one of her maids, a woman who looked old enough to be the great, great grandparent of Mrs. Tillane opened the door. 

“Ma’am, a Mr. “Red” Brutus Danaher wishes to be announced,” she said in a surprisingly strong voice for such a frail looking old woman. The old maid groaned before adding. “I mean, Squire Danaher.” 

Behind the small, frail looking maid, a large man, nearly as tall as Bog (though not quite) stood. While the man’s wasn’t as tall as Bog, he looked to be four times as wide. As he came up behind the maid filling the doorway, Bog saw his shoulders nearly touched the frame on either side. The man was dressed in a light brown suit that looked to be struggling to fit his large frame. 

When the maid turned and saw him, she yelled. “WIPE YER MUDDY BOOTS!!” 

Everyone watched as the big man cringed and quickly stepped out to wipe his boots before the maid would step aside and let him into the room. 

Brutus Danaher walked in carrying a heavy looking cane, his hat nearly crumpled in his hand as he practically stomped over to where Bog and Thaine waited in front of Mrs. Tillane’s desk. He glared daggers at Bog before he turned his attention to the widow, acting as if Bog didn’t exist and barely acknowledging that Thaine was on his other side as he pushed between the two men. 

“Mrs. Tillane…” His accent was thick and gruff as he spoke. He bowed his head respectfully to her. 

Mrs. Tillane smiled and motioned toward Bog. “This is Mr. King from America.” 

The big man made a rude noise, ignoring Bog who muttered. “Boo.” at the man which earned him a dirty look from Danaher before he growled. “It’s him I’m here about Mrs. Tillane. Is it true that behind me back he’s here trying to steal White O’Morn from under me nose?!” 

Mrs. Tillane looked ever so slightly amused as she asked, “And what concern is this of yours Brutus Danaher?” 

Brutus growled. It appeared to Bog he just barely stopped himself from stomping his foot, his grip on his cane that he was holding like a club turned his knuckles white. “Haven’t I made you a good, fair offer for that side piece of land? And mine lying right next to yours.” 

Mrs. Tillane narrowed her eyes at Brutus Danaher. “You may keep your offer,” she said, her voice dangerously low. 

“IT’S TRUE!! You sold it!!” Brutus Danaher declared, pointed at her with his cane. 

“Oh, no I haven’t.” Mrs. Tillane sounded exasperated, but the moment she said she hadn’t sold the land, Brutus began to laugh, his expression turning from sullen anger to humor. “I knew it! I knew it was a dirty lie the very minute I heard it!! I just knew it!” He chuckled loudly gesturing with his cane. “Sure I said to him, Packy McFarlane, you'll never make me believe that Elizabeth Tillane will sell White O’Morn. Why it’d be like building a fence between your land and mine!” He smiled at her with far too much familiarity. “And for a stranger to move in says I! And what would she be doing that for, I asked Packy? And us so close to an understanding you might say.” Brutus grinned at her in a way that was clearly making Mrs. Tillane annoyed if the expression on her face was anything to go by, Bog thought as he watched the exchange. This Brutus Danaher had just waded into dangerous terrritory and he didn’t even realize it. 

Mrs. Tillane narrowed her eyes. “So you told Packy McFarlane all that did you?” 

“That I did,” Brutus said proudly. 

“And I suppose you told him all this down at the pub in front of those big ears with pints in their fists and pipes in their mouths?” Her lips had gone thin, her eyebrow quirking up. It was clear to 

Bog the widow Tillane was becoming agitated and angry--very, very angry. 

“Uh…” Brutus opened his mouth clearly realizing too late that he had said something wrong and not sure what he should say next, but he wasn’t given a chance to say anything as Mrs. Tillane turned to Bog. “You may have the land Mr. King, for 600 pounds.” 

Thaine answered. “DONE!” 

Brutus’s face turned red as a beet as he yelled. “610!” 

Bog smiled, his voice calm. “As I remember Mrs. Tillane, you said 700.” 

Brutus turned, trying to use his presence as to intimidate Bog. Bog could tell the man was used to scaring other with his size, though Bog’s greater height made the feat difficult. Bog had faced off against worse than a blowhard like Brutus Danaher, he didn’t move an inch as Brutus shouted. “See here little man! 710!” 

Bog, smiling calmly at Brutus as he said simply without looking at Mrs. Tillane. “How about an even 1000?” 

Brutus started to reply, but instead his mouth moved silently like a fish gasping for air as he realized just how much Bog King has offered for the land. 

Instead he growled, glaring at Bog as he spoke. “I’ll be saying today to your Mrs. Tillane and all here but one.” He looked pointedly at Bog. “I’ve got you down in me book.” 

He turned and stormed out of Mrs. Tillane’s study, slamming the door hard enough that a few things in the room jingled. 

Bog did his best not to laugh, but it was damn hard. 

Mrs. Tillane smiled at Bog. “Now, shall we draw up the papers?” <

Bog smiled brightly at her. “Thank you Mrs. Tillane.”


	2. White O'Morn

Marianne was hurrying about the kitchen with her sister as the two of them made lunch. A large pot holding beef stew simmered on the oven top, bread was baking in the oven, vegetables needing peeling and cooking, jugs of water had to be fetched, and she did not have time to be thinking about tall, blue-eyed Americans she told herself as she threw some chopped carrots into the boiling stew a little harder than necessary. She had a lunch to worry about, she couldn’t be bothered with handsome, dark-haired men with long fingered, elegant hands… 

Marianne growled again and threw some more food into the pot. Dawn frowned, watching her sister throwing things into the stew, or beating the bread dough, or cutting the potatoes like they had somehow offended her. She couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her sister, but she didn’t really have time to ask. It wasn’t just the two sisters and their brother that they were feeding lunch, but all the farm hands that worked for their brother Brutus also had to be fed so the girls had their hands were full. 

Marianne continued to be distracted by thoughts of tall, blue-eyed men as she stirred the stew, all the while receiving confused and worried looks from her little sister. Dawn stood out from her brother and sister in appearance. Dawn didn’t have a bit of red hair on her head; all of her locks were a sunny shade of yellow like the gorse flower that grew along the hedges and fields all over Ireland. The saying went, that when the gorse was out of bloom then kissing was out of fashion, but since the flower bloomed anywhere and everywhere all year long, that was never likely to happen. 

Dawn was just as pretty as the flower her hair so resembled, she was sweet tempered--unlike her sister--and might have had more men courting her if she came with a fortune. As it was, several of the farmhands had their eyes on Marianne’s little sister. Marrying into the family might mean the farm would be theirs eventually and of the two sisters, Dawn was the sweet one while Marianne was known for her temper, especially after the last man who courted her. The same man continued to try to win her even after he’d been unfaithful by courting Marianne and another young woman in the town over. The offender: Roland Knight, an uppity young man who was related to the Widow Tillane, the child of her sister. Mrs. Tillane was tolerant of Roland’s behavior though she was the first to acknowledge the young man was a bit of a melter. 

The kitchen of the Danaher home was a large room containing a large, solidly built wooden table that dominated the center. There were a few other decorations in the room, a fine wooden cabinet that held a complete set of fine china dishes, one or two pictures, and a few precious knicknacks. At the table in the Danaher cottage, five men sat eating lunch while Marianne and Dawn cooked, fed, and picked up after them. Each man worked for Squire Danaher on the family’s large farm, each one there early in the morning until late in the evening. Part of their payment for their work were the excellent meals cooked by the two Danaher sisters. 

“My Da remembers his Da well, Mike King.” Sam, a short young man with a mop of black hair said loudly around a bite of bread in his mouth. “Said he had shoulders on him like an ox!!” Suileabhan, or Sunny as everyone called him, the shortest man to work on the farm with honey colored skin and matching hair, looked up from his plate where he had been shoving food into his mouth like it might get away from him, a confused frown on his face. 

“Did you say King?” he asked around a mouthful of stew, though for a moment his eyes wandered over to Dawn. She glanced over at him and their eyes met. She smiled, blushing prettily and looked away. Sunny grinned lopsidedly, his question instantly forgotten, his heart skipping a beat when the youngest Danaher sister looked at him. He’d been in love with Dawn Danaher as long as he could remember and he thought she had a soft spot for him, though neither of them had ever said a word to the other. Not that Brutus Danaher would let either one of his sisters anywhere near one of the farmhands anyway. 

“Aye.” Sam nodded and was about to say more only to be interrupted by Packy, a short skinny man that reminded Sunny of a little brown stoat. “I saw him meself this morning, a tall handsome man.” Packy looked over to where Marianne stood, a bowl of boiled potatoes in one hand and a basket of biscuits in the other. Packy drew out the words as if he were using worms to lure in a fish. 

He smirked at her even as Marianne gave the man the evil eye as he continued. “Saw him as I passed the chapel.” 

Marianne walked over and slammed the biscuits down on the table, glaring daggers at Packy. “If you pass the pub as fast as you pass the chapel, you’d be better off, ye little squint.” 

The other men at the table all laughed while Packy wrinkled his nose and dug into his meal. One of the other farmhands named Billy, a dark-eyed freckled man who was well liked by the ladies, called out leaning over to look down the long wooden table. “Sunny, ain’t you got a cousin who’s 

a King that went to America?” 

Sunny looked up from his meal looking down one end of the table to the others as everyone’s eyes were on him. Marianne had stopped what she was doing to stare at him. Sunny swallowed knowing that after lunch he was probably going to be cornered by the eldest Danaher sister, not something he was looking forward to at all. 

“Ah...Aye I do, but I ain’t heard from him in a while.” He reached for his water and took a drink glancing over at Marianne who was staring hard at him. 

“I’m wondering if it’s the same man. Bog’s an unusual name, only one Bog I ever heard spoken of and wasn’t that one a King?” asked Patrick, the oldest of the farmhands, probably slightly older than Brutus. 

Sunny was about to reply when the door was suddenly slammed open. Brutus Danaher stormed in, crushing his hat onto the peg by the door and throwing his cane where it hit the chair by the door and rolled off. He turned toward the now silent party eating at the kitchen table. 

“Just look at them!! All of them eating me out of house and home!!” he yelled into the silence. 

“GET BACK TO THE FIELDS!!” he roared. “All of you!! There work to be done and you lot in here stuffing yer faces with me food!!” 

The men all jumped to their feet, each one grabbing a roll or a potato as they rushed for the door. 

Brutus grabbed a bottle of whiskey from above the stove along with a glass before he walked over to his leather chair that sat in front of the fireplace that rested in a corner of the room. Marianne and Sunny shared a look before the little man disappeared out the door, Sunny knowing that look was a promise that he would be cornered later. Sunny sighed, a cold thread of dread running down his spine. No one liked to be on the receiving end of Marianne’s temper and he had a feeling if he didn’t answer her questions about his cousin, he was going to be on that end. He wasn’t even sure if this American everyone was talking about was his cousin, though it sounded like Bog. 

He sighed with relief when Marianne’s attention turned to her brother. He glanced over at Dawn who gave him a smile, but then Sunny was being shoved out the door by the other men. He only caught a hint of the irritation in Marianne’s voice as she turned on her brother. 

Packy, on the other hand, who fancied himself Brutus' right hand man, lingered after the other men were out the door, his plate in his hand as he continued to eat. 

“Isn’t it a bit early in the day for the bottle even for you?” Marianne growled at her elder brother. 

Brutus gave Marianne a sour look. 

Brutus ignored his sister. “Packy, get yer book out.” 

Packy grinned and nodded quickly, putting his plate aside as Marianne and her sister began cleaning up. Marianne glared at the skinny man, snatching his plate from him with such vigor that the small man flinched for a second. She smirked with dark satisfaction. 

He turned his attention back to Brutus, pulling out a little black book that he kept for Brutus, from the pocket of his pants. 

Brutus poured himself a drink and took a large swallow. The alcohol burned, but he ignored it before he growled, “Set down the name of one Bog King.” Brutus followed his declaration by spitting on the floor. 

Marianne spun around with a shriek. “OH!! BRUTUS!! You DONKEY!! Look at me clean floor!!! You dirty little thing!!” She stomped over to her brother glaring daggers at him while Brutus yelled right back. “Oh shut yer gab!!” “

OH!! Shut you, me little man!!” Marianne snarled right back at her brother before she pulled a rag that she had tucked in her apron and threw it at him, the dirty rag smacking her brother in the face. “You clean it yourself or there won’t be any dinner in this house tonight!!” 

Packy grabbed the rag and dropped to his knees on the floor and started to scrub with the rag while Dawn, who had started to wash dishes, pressed her lips down tight on a laugh. Her brother and sister were like this all the time, fighting with lots of shouting and calling each other names, though they loved each other. Brutus and Marianne were a great deal alike, both hot headed and easy to anger, and--as Dawn knew better than anyone--sometimes very unreasonable. 

Packy stood up looking proud of himself as he pointed at the floor. “Marianne look, there now, isn’t that grand? Isn’t it grand now, eh?” He smiled and shook his head. “Look Marianne, ye mustn’t mind himself this day…” 

Marianne had gone over to the table, picked up more dishes and glared at Packy. “That’s all the work you’re good for you little tattletale,” she hissed. 

Dawn turned around with a gasp. “Marianne!” 

“What?!” She spun around to face her sister. “He is and don’t you be denying it, you know he is.” 

Dawn snickered, shaking her head. “Still…” 

Brutus ignored Marianne as he hissed at Packy. “Have you written the name I gave you??” 

Packy nodded showing Brutus the book. “I have!” 

“Well then, strike a line through it!!” Brutus ordered with a growl. 

Packy glanced at Marianne who was glaring at the two of them as he drew a line through the name he had just written. Brutus laughed. 

“Heh, ha!! Death for him,” he muttered angrily. “Bog King…” Brutus practically spat the name as he poured himself another shot of whiskey. 

Marianne frowned for a moment in slight confusion about why her brother would be angry over the stranger, but then slowly her eyes widened as she put two and two together. She had heard the rumor, everyone had, that the American had gone to see the widow Tillane about White O’Morn, the piece of property that she knew her brother had been after for years. He’d tried everything he could to get the widow to sell to him, but Mrs.Tillane was like a mountain, unmovable. Until now, it seemed. 

“So he bought White O’Morn in spite of you.” Her voice held just a hint of both smugness and gratification to see her older brother, whom she loved with all her heart, but she knew to be a bit of a bully, finally put in his place by a stranger. She turned, rushing over to the window by the china cabinet. From the window Marianne could see the small stone cottage nestled among the trees that was White O’Morn. The land was beautiful and the cottage had been lovely once, a long time ago, and now the American was moving in. 

Marianne turned, grinning like a wildcat as she yelled at her brother. “GOOD for widow Tillane!!” 

Brutus turned to glare at his sister muttering loudly even as he reached for the broom by the fireplace as if to strike his sister. “Traitor!” 

Dawn stiffened even as Marianne grabbed a ceramic pot from the shelf and yelled back at her brother, holding the pot as if she were ready to break it over her brother’s head. “You do and there’ll be a fine wake in this house tonight!” 

Her brother and sister always fought like cats and dogs, yelling at each other and when they were younger they had even gotten into a few wrestling matches and hitting fights because Marianne didn’t care how big Brutus was, she was not willing to step back. It didn’t matter how much bigger someone was than her, Marianne never stepped back down from a fight, verbal or otherwise. Dawn didn’t think Brutus and Marianne would hurt each other now as adults. (They never had in the past, not really. Brutus bloodied Marianne’s lip once when they were kids and Marianne turned around and broke his nose. Ever since then their fights had been only in words, but Dawn still worried from time to time--they were both so...fiery.) 

Marianne slammed the pot down. “He’s got more right to that land than you have,” she snarled at her brother before she turned, grabbed her shawl and stomped out of the house. 

Brutus glared at the door muttering. “He’ll regret it to his dying day if ever he lives that long.” 

Dawn sighed, turning to look at her brother. Her gaze shot over to Packy, lifting a brow. The short man nodded knowing that he should go and quickly hurried out as Dawn walked over and dropped down to a crouch near her brother, resting her hands on his knees. 

“Brutus, you really shouldn’t yell at her like that,” Dawn said softly. 

“What about her yelling at me?” he grumped before he let out a longsuffering sigh and poured himself another drink, but Dawn gently took the glass away from him and set it down out of his reach. “Why do you have to be like that?” she asked. “Why do both of you have to be like that?” 

Brutus pouted, then muttered. “Why can’t yer sister be more like you?” 

Dawn laughed. “Because she’s too much like you and you know it.” 

Brutus grumbled again, folding his hands over his stomach. “She’s just so disagreeable. No wonder no one wants her. I can’t figure out why that Roland fella is still after her hand. I wish she would take up with him, maybe it’d calm her down.” 

Dawn stood and gave her brother a light smack on the shoulder. “Now you don’t mean that and don’t you dare let Marianne catch you talking like that! You know she hates Roland and you should too after what he did to her.” 

Brutus grumbled under his breath, then sighed with a look up at his little sister. “Love you.” 

Dawn smiled and rubbed the top of his head. “Love you too, and so does Marianne.” 

“Don’t know about that…” he muttered, but smiled making Dawn laugh. 

* 

Back in town at the small local bar--which also rented rooms in the other section of the large building in which it was located--Bog had rented a room that morning (just in case he wasn’t able to buy White O’Morn.) Bog came down the stairs from his rented room with his bags and sleeping bag in his hands, a smile on his face. There were two young men in the downstairs area that itself looked more like someone’s cozy front room than a lobby. Both young men were of similar stature with light brown hair and slight builds, though one had grey eyes, the other green. 

“Will it be all right if I leave my bags here for a bit?” he asked the room in general as he came into the lobby of the inn. Both men were dressed in fine suits, one sitting by the fireplace smoking his pipe, the other nursing a cup of tea at one of the tables. The one smoking his pipe frowned, his eyes following the tall American as he set his bags off to the side by the wall. “I suppose they’ll be fine enough.” 

Bog smiled and nodded his thanks. “Oh, and if you see a little guy named Thaine Flynn, tell him I’m waiting for him in the bar.” 

The one sipping his tea smirked. “It would be a pleasure, especially for Thaine Flynn.” 

Bog chuckled, turning toward the door. “Thanks…” 

“Is there anything else you like now Yank?” the one smoking his pipe asked with a bit of an irritated tone. 

Bog turned, looking both younger men up and down before he answered with only a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Well, if I think of anything, I’ll let you know,” he said before stepped out into the bar area. 

When Bog walked into the bar section of the place, he nearly stopped in his tracks. The bar was full and every eye turned toward him. He felt a sudden jolt of nerves at having every eye on him, but Bog quickly calmed himself. Instead he smiled and inclined his head. “Evening.” 

“Pleasant night,” he added as he walked further into the room, making his way over to the bar, every pair of eyes following him. He stopped at the bar where a different man was working than the one that had been there that morning, this one wearing a black bowler hat. 

Bog smiled at the man then pointed behind him. “I’ll try one of those black beers.” 

The man in the black bowler nodded. “Ah, the porter.” 

Bog turned back to the bar, pulled out a cigarette from his jacket pocket, then used one of the oil lamps on the bar to light his cigarette, his blue eyes straying to the patrons of the bar, all of them watching him intently. 

Bog smiled taking a long drag on his cigarette before he said a little louder, looking around the bar. “I’d like to buy everyone a drink.” 

A man probably old enough to be Bog’s great grandfather dressed in a dark green bop hat, checked scarf and black coat, who held onto a polished shillelagh in one hand and a pipe in the other, and sporting a perfectly groomed white beard, leaned forward, her eyes narrowed, but not in an unfriendly manner. “I do not believe I heard your name, tall man.” His accent was thick, but not so thick that Bog had to struggle to understand him. 

“King--Bog Sean King,” Bog said with a smile around his cigarette. 

The elderly man stood and the only other indication of his age was his stooped shoulders. “And yer father’s name?” 

Bog straightened up a bit when he spoke which told of his pride in his father. “Mike, Michael King, and my mother, Griselda Thornton. They both used to live here, White O’Morn’. I just bought the place back this afternoon. That’s why I’m here.” 

The old man pointed his shillelagh at Bog. “Then your grandfather would be old Sean Thornton.” 

Bog smiled, his memories of his grandfather were few, but he did remember a bigger than life man who smelled of tobacco smoke and had a laugh that could make the trees wave with him. 

“Yes, that’s him,” Bog said with a growing smile. 

The old man shook his head. “Ah, bless his memory. Carry his name with you I see and yer mother--I remember her, wee lass with a temper...” The old man laughed. “Brought herself a Scotsman home and had the scrawniest little baby, named him after that old road she met your father on...the Old Bog Road she did…” 

Bog laughed. “Yes, yes she did.” 

The old man laughed. “Well,, that being the case, it is a pleasant evening and we will be having a drink!” The old man hit the bar counter with his cane, giving it three good whacks. As if that were some sort of call, all the men in the bar came over, smiling and breaking into song. One of them even had an accordion on him. With seconds, as the drinks were passed around, the entire bar began to sing. 

Bog chuckled smiling with pleasure. 

And just like that he was welcomed. 

* 

Inside the lobby of the inn part of the building, the two young men whom Bog had asked to watch his things, Billy and Dermont, were inspecting the sleeping bag trying to figure out what the large long, rolled thing exactly was and how to open it when the door swung open and Father Ian Paul Lonergan came waltzing in along with his junior partner Eric Craig. Both young men leapt to their feet as if they had been caught with the communion crackers and wine (again). 

“Oh good evening Father,” they said in unison. 

Father Lonergan smiled apologetically. “Sorry we’re late, the rest of the committee here?” 

Dermont frowned. “Was the fishing bad?” 

Father Lonergan growled. “Fine lot of time have for that, come on.” 

Following right behind the father and the young priest, almost invisible until the two taller men moved, was Thaine. When Billy saw him, he jumped a foot. “Damn man!!” 

Dermont laughed. “Oh Thaine, yer Yankee friend is waiting for you in the bar.” 

Thaine grinned. “A fine place to wait for a man.” He started to walk that way when Billy stopped him. “Wait a minute Thaine, who is that man anyway?” 

Thaine grinned brightly. “He’s a nice, quiet, peace-loving man come home to Ireland to forget his troubles.” 

Dermont exchanged a look of surprise and question with Billy. “Troubles?” 

Thaine nodded with seriousness. “Yes, yes, he’s a millionaire, like all the yanks, but he’s eccentric, yes, yes eccentric.” Thaine shook his head like it was a shame that Bog King was such an eccentric. Thaine’s eyes lit up. “Oh I’ll show you!” He reached over and grabbed the sleeping bag that the two young men had been trying to figure out not minutes before. 

Dermont pointed at the roll. “What is it?” 

Thaine chuckled like he had uncovered a secret. “It’s a bag to sleep in. A sleeping bag he calls it. Did ye ever hear the like? A bag fer sleeping?!” 

All three of them laughed at the absurdity. 

Thaine grinned brightly. “What until I show you how it operates, but we must be quick--I have an important appointment!” 

Together then three of them worked to unroll Bog’s sleeping bag. 

* 

Inside the bar everyone was continuing to sing while Bog enjoyed his porter, his cigarette, and the now warm company he found himself in. From the street entrance, Brutus Danaher and Packy Feeney walked into the bar. 

Brutus saw Bog (who hadn’t seen him yet) and moved slowly through the bar, his eyes never leaving Bog’s figure until he had found himself a seat on the other side of the counter across from Bog. 

The music had just stopped playing and the older man with whom Bog had been drinking smiled at him. “Bog King, the men of Innisfree bid you welcome home.” Bog smiled brightly and clinked his glass against the elderly man’s mug. “Thank you, thank you very much.” 

That was when, his voice loud and sarcastic, Brutus laughed. “And the men of Innisfree bid you welcome home.” Brutus turned to his friend Packy. “And what be wrong with that little speech Packy?” 

“Oh you’d be knowing what Squire,” Packy said quickly as Brutus moved away from him making his way over to Bog and everyone moving out of the large man’s way. Brutus stopped not far from Bog, planted his hands on his hips, his eyes narrowed. Bog kept his expression calm, maybe even slightly amused as he watched the other man. He knew the type, used to throwing their weight around, scaring others into doing their will--or beating them into it. Bog was a lot of things, but scared of a big, loud bully was not one of them. 

“Well, I’m a man from Innisfree, and the best man and I bid no welcome to any man fool enough to pay a thousand pounds for a bit of land that isn’t worth two hundred!” 

Packy chimed in. “Too true Squire.” 

The man with the accordion called out loudly so everyone would hear. “Didn’t I hear of someone named Danaher bidding to 810??” 

Brutus stomped over with Packy close behind. He stopped and glared at the man, then hissed at Packy. “Ger yer book out. Put his name down.” Brutus pointed his walking stick at the man with the accordion. “Pat O’Malley!” 

Pat grinned. “O.M.A.L.L.E.Y.” 

One of the men standing behind Pat muttered. “If you were half the man you thought you were, you wouldn’t begrudge a King his birthplace.” 

Another one of the men muttered. “That be my opinion as well.” 

Brutus growled. “What right has he to land he’s never worked?” 

The elderly man at the bar hissed. “Brutus Danaher, it’s King land.” 

Pat called out. “You’ve too much of your own as it is.” 

Packy yelped pointing at Pat with his pencil. “Hey now!! Parliamentary procedure! Squire Danaher has the floor!” 

The old man turned to Bog muttering under his breath while grabbing his shillelagh with both hands. “If I had the floor…” He smacked the floor with his cane loudly and said for all to hear. “I’d hit that big ape with it!!” At the same time as he spoke, he swung his cane back like a bat. 

Bog tried not to chuckle at the old man as he reached out and grabbed his cane. “Now, now…” He let go and walked over to Brutus. “Look, I don’t blame Mr. Danaher for getting on his ear about this…” 

Brutus stomped over, nearly in Bog’s face. “Who’s on his ear??!! You and two dolphins couldn’t put a Danaher on his ear!!” 

Bog sighed rubbing the back of his neck. “Look it’s just a way of speaking, I didn’t mean anything…” 

Brutus growled narrowing his eyes. “You mind your ways then Yank!” 

Bog sighed, keeping his calm, though barely. “The point is, it’s already done, I own the land and as long as we’re going to be neighbors…” 

“‘Neighbors’ he says??!! Neighbors…” Brutus laughed dismissively. “We’ll never be neighbors Yank! If I so much as catch you putting a wet foot on my property, I’ll…” For a moment Brutus seemed to lose track of one thought only to be derailed by another. “Oh and another thing, you keep away from my sister Marianne! She’s not for the likes of you!” 

Bog lifted a dark brow at Brutus, the smile that had been on his face turned a little sour, his blue eyes hardening a fraction as he said calmly while crossing his arms over his wide chest, “Where I come from, we don’t discuss our womenfolk in saloons. You seem to make a habit of it. First this morning with widow Tillane and now with your sister...” 

Brutus' face turned red, he looked as if he were on the edge of an explosion. “WHAT?!” 

The old man shook his head and muttered loudly. “It’s true, we all know it and it’s ashamed you should be Brutus Danaher.” 

Brutus, for just a moment, looked confused and unsure of himself, his voice calming for a moment in his confusion. “I’m not accusing Marianne, it’s him!” He pointed at Bog, his temper quickly returning along with his growling and shouting. “This very morn!! Let him deny it if he can, he took liberties that he shouldn't have at the back of the chapel!!!” 

Bog smiled. “I said good morning to her.” 

Brutus yelled. “It was a good morning! Yes, but it was a good night you had on your mind!!” 

Bog’s entire demeanor suddenly changed, his eyes turned colder and his back stiffened; everyone in the room sensed the change from causal annoyance to anger. 

Bog’s tone became softer, but the edge of steel in it was clear as day. He kept his arms folded across his chest. “That’s a lie,” he said softly. 

The barkeep swiftly began removing the gaslight and the glasses from the counters of the bar, his expression one of excited anticipation. 

Brutus looked at Bog with confusion, his entire body going still. “That’s a what? What did you say?” he asked in a surprised whisper. 

Bog’s temperament didn’t change. He had been leaning slightly against the wall, but he slowly stood to his full height. He was taller than any man in the bar and everyone’s eyes widened. They hadn’t realized that the Yank had been walking slightly slouched at the shoulders until he wasn’t. One of them whistled in surprise. 

“I said: that’s a lie,” Bog growled softly. 

Brutus exploded even more than he already had, which Bog might have found impressive if he wasn’t already angry. Brutus Danaher threw off his hat and threw his cane to the floor. “That’s a word I take from no man!!” he roared at Bog. 

The loud commotion brought Thaine, Father Lonergan, Dermont, and Billy racing into the bar just as Brutus yelled. “Put up your fists!!” 

Bog remained perfectly still, his voice calm but cool. “I am not going to fight you,” he said simply. 

“Well I’m going to fight you!!” Brutus charged, but Bog sidestepped out of the way allowing the other man to run headfirst into the wall. At the same time, Bog tossed some coins on the counter to pay for everyone’s beer with a smile and headed to the door. 

The old man at the bar burst into laughter. 

Bog turned to leave. 

Brutus went after him. 

Bog turned, but the men of the bar swarmed between Bog and Brutus just as Father Lonergan put himself between Brutus and Bog, getting in Brutus face. “What’s the matter with you? Do ye want yer sisters hearing about this?!” The priest sniffed at the big man, then growled in disgust. “He’s drunk!! Packy take him home!!” 

Packy hurried over to grab Brutus. “Now, now Squire, don’t soil yer knuckles on the man!” 

Bog took a breath, stepping around some of the other men and put his hand out to Brutus. “Come on Danaher, whattya say we stop this foolishness?” 

Brutus growled, glaring at Bog. “NEVER!!” 

Father Lonergan hissed. “Brutus Danaher you take the man’s hand or I’ll read your name in the mass on Sunday.” 

Panky began to panic. “Oh take it! Take it!!” 

Brutus growled glaring at Bog. “I’ll join the church of Ireland first!!!” 

Father Lonergan yelled back. “As if they’d have you!! Now take his hand! Shake hands like I’m telling you Brutus Danaher!” 

Brutus grinned. “Shake hands ye say...FINE!” 

He grabbed Bog’s outstretched hand, putting all his strength into his grip, ready to crush the Yank’s hand, but when he grabbed Bog’s hand he was surprised to find that Bog’s grip was just as strong as his, if not stronger. For a long, silent few seconds, Bog and Brutus stared at each other, their hands gripped in a white knuckled war of strength, neither man moving. 

Bog kept his smile, only showing a tiny bit of pain around his eyes and his clenched teeth. He smiled and hissed through gritted teeth. “It’s a good grip you have there Danaher. I always hated a flabby handshake myself.” 

Brutus, who was clearly struggling, his angry expression contorted in pain as he tried to adjust his arm, but only accomplished in twisting his shoulder a little. Growling Brutus tried to hang on, but Bog’s grip was powerful and strong and in the end he was the first to let go, throwing Bog’s hand away like a hot potato. 

He glared at Bog for a few more seconds, flexing his pained fingers before he turned, and without a word, stomped out of the bar. The two priests followed him out each with a smirk on his face. 

Billy smirked too, looking over at Thaine. “Thaine, introduce me to this quiet peace-loving man of yours.” 

Dermont, standing next to Billy, grinned. “I have a strange notion that we’re gonna be friends, Yank.” He put his hand out to Bog. 

Bog smiled and laughed, shaking out his hand and flexing his fingers. “Give me a minute just to let some blood back into this thing; that man has a grip like a bull!” 

Everyone laughed as Bog took Dermont’s hand. 

Thaine grinned like a proud parent. “Everyone, this is Bog King. His grandfather was a grand man, was hung in Australia. Ooh, the blood-curdling stories about that man I could tell!! But me throat...it’s gone dry…” Thaine looked longingly at the bar, causing everyone to laugh and haul the short man to the bar. 

Almost instantly the singing resumed as if nothing had happened, the drinks flowing once more. Bog chuckled as he was given another pint, sure he was going to like it here in Innisfree. 

* 

As the sky dimmed into evening, Bog walked from the bar, across the stone bridge toward White O’Morn, his new home, carrying his bags with Thaine and following along with him. The wind had started to howl, promising rain as he stopped on the bridge to gaze at the little stone house. 

The house looked cold and lonely, long empty of life and love, surrounded by trees that twisted in the wind. Bog stared at the simple house and his heart a twisted knot of different feelings: missing his long dead parents, the warmth of family, the hope for a new future, and maybe a little fear of the ghosts that haunted the house and the land around it. 

Thaine glanced over at Bog with a frown. “You sure you don’t want to change yer mind and come home with me?” Bog smiled down at the man, appreciating his offer more than he knew. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I got my sleeping bag, haven't I?” 

Thaine shrugged. “Well, it’s a nice soft night. I think I’ll head home to the wife.” He turned with a little leer in his little dark eyes. “Good night Bog.” 

Bog smiled. “Good night Thaine.” 

Turning back, Bog walked the rest of the way to his new home only to stop in surprise at the front door when he saw smoke coming out of the chimney. The wind picked up as he reached for the door, shoving his sleeping bag under his arm and shoved the wooden door open only to stumble into a warm room lit by butter yellow light, the floors swept clean, and a fire roaring in the fireplace. It was a welcome sight. 

He frowned, dropping his things on the floor, looking around in confusion as he shut the door behind him. 

He didn’t see the young woman hiding behind the table in the other room, her shawl over her hair, staring at him from her hiding place. Bog walked around the main room of the house in confusion, trying to figure out who had come into his home and cleaned the place or lit the fire. While he stood dumbfounded, the wind outside began to whip itself into a storm. He heard the sound of something beating against the walls and moved to look into the other room. The door was broken and he could see that some of the glass of the window in that room was gone, letting the wind whip into the house causing the old wooden shutter hanging on the window to clatter and clank. He pressed his lips together and refrained from stepping into the room, knowing that someone had to be here and if they were, they had to be in that room as it was the only other room in the house. 

Inside the room, feeling as trapped as a mouse, Marianne stood up. The shadows of the room kept her hidden from his sight, but the Yankee had moved out of the way and she had lost sight of his shadow in the other room. 

Bog, sensing that someone had to be in the room, looked around until he found something he could throw, a discarded old piece of broken pottery in a corner, missed by whoever had cleaned the floor. He pressed his lips together weighing the pottery shard in his hand, before he let out a banshee yell and threw the piece of broken pot into the other room. The fragment, whipped by the wind, (and Bog’s aim being better tan he thought) instead was carried through the window, shattering the upper glass that remained with a loud crash. 

Marianne, caught off guard by the frightening yell that sounded as if it could have come from something unnatural, spun around to leave, only to accidentally catch sight of herself in an old mirror yet unbroken hanging on the wall. She was terrified from the crazed yell and the sudden sight of a face when she hadn’t been expecting it, made her scream. 

She dashed out of the room heading toward the front door. Her hand wrapped around the handle, ready to yank the door open, with the wind blowing something terrible. But just as Marianne pulled the door open, a hand grabbed her by her wrist. 

The wind blew into her face, shoved Marianne back into the house, while simultaneously she was pulled back into the home and spun out into the main room, her wrist held in a firm grip, but it was the handsome stranger. The wind roared into the house, whipping her hair and clothing back as she stared at the man, unable and unwilling to struggle. This close to him, he was taller, much taller than she had first realized. His hat had been whipped off by the wind and his thick dark hair was whipping around, and his eyes… 

She had known his eyes were blue, but now, with the storm clouds racing in and the wind tearing around them, his eyes were the bluest thing Marianne had ever seen. He held her by her wrist at arms length, staring at her with those clear, spring blue eyes. 

She couldn’t look away. 

He slowly pulled her toward him, gently twisting her arm that he held at the wrist behind her back as he pulled her up against his chest. Neither of them said a word, both lost in each other's eyes. 

Bog didn’t know what he was doing or why, but staring down at Marianne, this close, the wind causing her hair to dance behind her, he was lost. He wasn’t the type to be forward, but right now, in his home, the wind beating like a wild animal in time to his heart, he reacted without thought. He pulled her to him, reached up to gently touch her shoulder, then her face, his fingers brushing against the soft skin of her cheek while she stared back at him, her perfect mouth open like an invitation. 

Then he kissed her. 

He kissed Marianne Danaher, a long, drawn out kiss, his tongue sliding between her lips as if they had always welcomed him, as if he had come home. She tasted sweet, like the Irish countryside, like flowers in spring, like the one thing he wanted in life more than peace and quiet. Love. 

Marianne clung to Bog, her free hand coming up to rest against his chest, her fingers digging into the cloth of his shirt as she returned his kiss. His lips, his tongue were everything she had ever wanted. She kissed him back with a desperation and passion that she thought Roland had killed in her, but Bog King ignited with a flame far hotter, far deeper than anything she had felt before. This was how a kiss was supposed to be she thought with wild abandon. 

He dipped her back, the wild Irish wind dancing around them, their tongues lost in a slow dance. When he finally pulled away from her, Marianne felt as if she had lost something. She couldn’t breathe for a moment and she rested her forehead against his chest, struggling to find her breath. 

Bog looked down at her, stunned at what he had just done, but not the least bit unhappy about having done it. 

He let her go and reached back to close the door as Marianne took a step back from him as sense suddenly took over. When he turned around, he just barely got his hand up in time to block the slap that Marianne flung at him. 

“It’s a bold one you are!!” she snarled, fire in her brown eyes making them glow in the dim firelight, her brownish red hair a tangled mess about her head. “Who gave you leave to be kissing me!!” she yelled, nearly stamping her foot. 

Bog blushed, rubbing the back of his neck as he said softly. “So you can talk.” 

“Yes I can and I will and I do!” Marianne hissed and stomped for the door. Bog stepped out of her way while he turned toward her, a tentative smile on his, face but Marianne spun around, clearly ready to try for round two with the slapping as she growled, her brown eyes flashing, and Irish accent becoming thicker with annoyance. “And it’s more than talk you'll be getting if you step closer to me!” 

Bog smiled, putting his hands up in surrender. “Don’t worry, you got a wallop!” 

She looked him up and down, trying to keep her attraction under control as she growled. “You’ll get over it I’m thinking.” 

Bog frowned slightly, tilting his head as he gazed at her in a way that made Marianne’s inside turn to butter and butterflies explode in her heart. “Some things a man doesn’t get over so easily,” he said softly as he looked at her with those stunning blue eyes. 

The nerve of him! 

She swallowed and took a step back from him, backing herself against the closed door. No one had ever spoken to her like this man. Even Roland, with all his flowery words, had always lacked something that this man had. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but he woke something up in her, something wild and dangerous inside her that made her want to throw herself into his arms. “Like what, supposing?” she asked, her voice suddenly soft, tentative. 

Bog smiled again and Marianne realized his smile was causing her heart to flutter, that smile of his was dangerous. Then he reached up, rubbing the back of his neck as a blush crept into his cheeks. “Like the sight of a girl coming through the fields…” He stepped closer to her, close enough that Marianne could smell him, a mix of cigarette smoke, porter, and something deadly, dangerous and sexy. “...with the sun on her hair, her feet bare in the grass…” His voice dropped to a whisper. He was close enough for her to reach for him. Her eyes didn’t move from his face as he dropped a hand onto the doorframe beside her, leaning in ever so slightly. “....that same girl kneeling in church with a face like a saint…” he murmured, his voice hypnotic. 

Marianne muttered trying to be annoyed with him, but finding she couldn’t. “Saint indeed…” 

“And now...that same girl comes to a man’s house to clean it for him…” Bog’s voice was a low, masculine purr that made her want to throw him to the floor and do things she would have to confess in church later. 

“That...that was just my way of performing a good Christian act…” she muttered unconvincingly. 

Bog nodded. “I know it was Marianne Danaher and it was nice of you.” 

Marianne felt a blush rising high on her cheeks. “Not at all…” She bit her bottom lip staring up at him. Her heart was beating so fast and so loud that it scared her, but she turned and pulled the door open; Bog didn’t try to stop her. She blinked for a moment, then suddenly turned and pressed her lips to his in a quick, but burning kiss and then she dashed out the door, the wind shutting it behind her. 

Bog stared at the door, at the place where she had been, his breath suddenly ragged. He turned around and leaned against the door and smiled, pressing his hand against his beating heart. 

“Marianne Danaher….” He whispered her name like a promise, a smile dancing gently on his lips.


	3. The Shaughraun

A couple of days had passed since Bog’s arrival in town. Bog had been focused on making the house livable: patching holes, fixing broken windows, and in general turning the little cottage back into the home it had once been. 

This morning dawned bright and cool with a gentle breeze in stark contrast to last night's stormy weather. 

Bog, dressed in jeans, his work boots, a black button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and comfortable beige vest and his hat, balanced dangerously on a long metal ladder. He went up to the roof the do some re-thatching with some straw and dried water reeds, as well as some dried heather. The work was harder than he first thought it might be and it was dirty. He had another ladder balanced on the roof of the barn so that he could move from one roof to the other without having to constantly move one single ladder. The extra ladder had been a bit expensive, but he was glad he had sprung for it. And the hard work made him feel good--especially since it was hard work on his home, his new home where he planned to raise a family of his own, surrounded by the green fields and flowered landscape of his mother’s homeland. 

After spending a few hours on the roof, Bog switched jobs to painting the shed a bright, cheerful Irish green. He had just finished with the painting, dropped the paint brush into the can with a plop. He turned to head inside, thinking about planting some flowers he had bought for a garden when he saw an unusual sight coming down the path toward him, a tandem bicycle with a middle age couple riding the bicycle up the road toward him home. 

Bog waited with a smile to greet his new guests as they drove up his path at a clipped pace and was surprised to see the white collar around the man’s throat who sat at the front of the two-driver bicycle. 

“Hello!” Bog called out with a wide grin and a wave. He was answered with a shared chorus from the man and woman on the bike. “Good morning Mr. King!” 

Bog chuckled and smiled as he walked closer. They were both wearing matching dark grey suits, (the lady in a long straight skirt instead of trousers) the man in a black hat and glasses, while the woman wore a similarly styled brown hat with a slightly wider brim. 

“How are you father...I mean doctor…” Bog fumbled for a moment, but the older man held up a hand. “No, no, just mister--and on formal occasions, the reverend Mr. Playfair. Pare Playfair.” The reverend rolled his “r’s” in a way that only the Irish could. Smiling, Mr. Playfair motioned to the woman sharing the bike with him. “And this is Mrs. Playfair, Elizabeth Playfair that is.” 

Mrs. Playfair got off the bike, walked over to Bog then past him, her eyes on the cottage. Bog watched her with a quizzical eye. 

“Call me Lizzie please, everyone does, until we’re in church or it’s a formal occasion.” She turned to wink at her husband over her shoulder, her eyes bright. “Well, Mr. Thornton, you are a wonder….” she said breathlessly, gazing at the cottage and grounds with a pleased eye. “It looks the way all Irish cottages should and so seldom do!” She looked around to see that Bog had painted the fence the same cheery Irish green as the shed, and he had planted some bushes around the house, laid out fresh white stones to mark the flower beds. There were even some brightly colored flowers, freshly purchased, simply waiting to be planted, resting on a windowsill. 

She smiled with pleasure and maybe a small chuckle. “And only an American would have thought of emerald green.” She shook her head. “It’s just beautiful Mr. King, simply lovely.” 

Mr. Playfair glanced at Bog. “You know, red is more durable.” 

Bog smiled and shrugged in answer. 

Mrs. Playfair turned to walk back to the men, then passed them as she gasped with delight. “Roses! You planted roses!! How nice! You’ll need lots and lots of horse manure--fertilizer, I mean.” 

The sudden change in demeanor of the reverend's wife made Bog chuckle silently. Going from praising the beauty of the roses to becoming practical about their growing was very Irish, Bog thought as he turned to Mrs. Playfair. “Oh?” he asked. 

She nodded sagely. “Horse is the best...OH! And I brought you a plant!” she exclaimed, hurrying over to the bike her husband and she had rode up on. In the front sat a simple wicker basket. 

Mrs. Playfair reached into the basket and pulled out a small, but healthy looking plant. “This is called ‘ a primrose by a river’s brink’...” 

“It’s brim, not brink. I've been telling you that for ages,” Mr. Playfair muttered as he walked over to Bog while the reverend’s wife gave her husband the longsuffering look that Bog has seen on many a housewife's face--and his mother’s face, he recalled--as her husband added. “The next line ends in a hymn.” 

Ignoring Mr. Playfair, Mrs. Playfair turned to Bog. “Poets are a silly breed, aren’t they? I do hope you’re not one Mr. King.” She grinned and winked at Bog, who chuckled with a shake of his head. “No ma’am, no I’m not.” 

The reverend Playfair was studying Bog King and his wife exchange pleasantries when something about the man caught his attention. He couldn't be sure what it was, something about the way he stood, the long, narrow profile, the fire in his eyes. His hair was shorter then...why did he know that? 

“King...King...” he muttered to himself. He rubbed his thumb over his fingernail turning the name around in his head. “There’s a familiar ring to that name…” 

That’s when a light clicked on. 

Mr. Playfair stared at Bog as slowly his eyes widened. “Ring to it…” he said in an almost dreamy voice as he began to realize what was bothering him about Bog King, but still not having the words to form the thought. 

Bog stared back at the man, watching the way the other man’s face changed and a moment later Bog’s expression fell. This was what he hadn’t wanted anyone to know, his secret, the reason he had run away from his life in America, the reason he wanted to find some peace. 

“It...it’s a common name…” he stated in the hope that he was wrong about what the reverend had realized about him. He took the plant from Mrs. Playfielr, trying to speed them along. 

“Thank you for the plant Mrs. Playfair…” Bog stuttered just a little. “This, ah, this is…” He stuttered again, this time becoming hung up because he couldn’t find the word in Irish and instead simply said. “This is awfully nice of you…” 

Mrs. Playfair smiled, about to say something when her eyes were drawn to the path from Bog’s house. Coming down the path was an old two-wheeled wagon and horse being escorted down the path toward the cottage. On the wagon was a brand new, large, polished wooden headboard and footboard for the frame of an extremely large bed, along with a trunk of new fresh linens, cotton blankets and pillows. 

* 

Inside the Danaher cottage, Marianne Danaher cleaned. 

She had decided to be nice to her sister that morning as payment for how foul she had been the other night fighting with their brother even if Marianne knew she was in the right. So she had taken the morning chores for both her and her sister and sent Dawn off to feed the chickens, which she knew would thrill her sister. The chicken coup just happened to be near where the men were going to be working on the farm this morning, especially a short man with dark skin and eyes only for her sister. If Dawn happened to run into the same man then it was only by chance, of course. Walking by the window, drying her hands on her apron and thinking she might take a tea break, she saw movement on the path that led to the King cottage. 

She hadn’t seen a great deal of Bog King since the kiss, as the man had been focused on rebuilding his cottage. Once the men were out of the house and in the fields, her brother along with them, Marianne would watch Bog King work on his home. Her eyes would linger over his tall, slender frame, catching glimpses of him with dirty hands and knees from working in his garden, or steal a glimpse as he worked on the fence. 

Watching Bog King work was a secret joy Marianne had developed. 

Curiosity was stronger than her common sense and Marianne found herself grabbing her shaw and hurrying out the front door. When she saw the cart holding the bed her eyes and mouth popped open wide. 

It was the biggest bed she had ever seen in her life! Marianne’s eyes nearly fell right out of her skull as she watched the bed being brought over to Bog King’s cottage. What on earth could that man be planning with a bed like that? She asked herself, while at the same time feeling a strange, warm tickle in her belly. 

Slowly, like a warm hearth burning in her belly, the thought of what could be done on a bed of that size rose up in Marianne Danaher’s mind... 

* 

Bog looked from the Playfairs who were gaping at the size of his bed, then back to the horse and cart that carried his delivery. 

A blush rose up on his cheeks as he muttered, his ears turning red. “Ah...it’s a bed,” he said before he smiled awkwardly, one foot already turned toward the cart. “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me…” 

Bog hurried over to the man who was delivering the bed with a smile and a nod of his head. “Good morning.” 

“Good morning Mr. King. That’s a fine big bed you have there Mr. King, very fine indeed.” The older man smiled and nodded, climbing up onto the cart to untie the bed. 

Bog could feel his blush deepening, but he did say, “The biggest one I could find.” He set the primrose he was carrying, along with the paint, aside to help with unloading his bed. 

* 

Marianne’s mouth fell open as she watched Bog King unload the headboard to his huge, new bed, pick it up by himself and walk up the rest of the path toward his house, carrying the giant thing as if it weighed nothing at all. That warmth she had been feeling in the pit of her stomach decided to spread slowly through the rest of her body. 

She was so enthralled in watching Bog King and his massive bed that she didn’t realize Packy had come up beside her until he spoke. 

“Is that a bed or a parade ground??” he asked, followed by a smirk. “Oh, a man would have to be a sprinter to catch his wife in a bed like that.” He turned to look over at Marianne, his smirk playing across his ratty little face. 

Marianne turned and gave Packy an indignant look even as she was thinking the same thing herself. She yanked her shawl over her head, glared at the little man one more time before turning on her heel and headed out to the front of the house only to stop short in surprise when she saw Thaine and his jaunty cart. Usually she wouldn’t have thought much about this, thinking that Thaine was here to see her brother (though the two did not get along) or maybe he was here on other business, but his morning Thaine was dressed in his Sunday best black suit with a matching top hat, a daisy on his lapel, and his riding crop in hand. 

The short man had been sitting on the step of his wagon, sipping from his flask when he caught sight of Marianne. The moment he did, he grinned brightly and jumped down from the wagon. He walked over to her, stopped a few paces away with a smile on his lips, taking a moment to adjust his tie and vest before pulling out a little black book. Glancing over at Marianne, his expression turned professional before his gaze returned to his book. It was clear to Marianne that the man had been drinking a little as there was a slight wobble to his gait and when he stopped to examine his silly, little book, she saw that he weaved ever so slightly. 

Marianne smirked to see Thaine all dressed up. She had no idea what he was playing at, but she was going to find out. 

She stepped closer to him, her fists on her hips, looking Thaine up and down. Her voice held a tone of sarcasm. “Well, well, Mr. Flynn. And what are you all dressed up for, Thaine Oge Flynn?” she asked with a raised brow and a smirk playing over her lips. 

Thaine held up a finger to indicate she should wait silently while he finished looking through his little, black book. When he’d come to the page he wanted, he began to speak as if he were giving a speech. 

“I have…” He coughed, wrinkling his nose with a sniff and started again. “I have come…” 

Marianne chuckled, crossing her arms over her chest. “I can see that, but from whose pub was it and does yer wife know yer out here in your Sunday best making an ass of yourself?” 

Thaine gave Marianne a narrow eyed gaze, his words slurring as he spoke. “Now you leave the Missus out of this.” He shook his head looking back at his book, muttering. “You’ve a tongue like an adder…” He turned to look at Marianne again wagging a finger at her as he did. “I’ve a good mind to go and tell Kog Bing that he’s well off without you?” 

Marianne blinked in shock. “What? What did you say?” 

Thaine grinned at her, his eyes lighting up. “Oooh, now I see...will you listen then and not be interrupting The Shaughraun…The Matchmaker...” The little man wobbled in place for a couple of seconds before shaking himself and going back to his book while muttering incoherently. 

Marianne’s eyes grew wide, her mouth falling open, but she went still even as her heart beat so fast and hard that she almost couldn't hear Thaine as he began to speak again, reading from his little book with only a slight slur of his slightly drunken voice. (Thaine had started drinking the moment Bog King approached him about playing matchmaker because he knew, between the two tempers of Brutus and his sister, along with Marianne’s overall contrary temperament, this was not going to be an easy exercise in love.) 

“I have come at the request of Og Bing…” 

Her voice filled with wonder, Marianne said anxiously, “Bog, Bog King…” 

Thaine weaved in place for a few seconds when he turned his head too quickly toward Marianne. “Shhh!!” he hissed too loudly. 

Thaine continued. “Bachelor and party of the first part…” He glanced at Marianne to make sure she understood. 

She nodded enthusiastically and Thaine continued wobbling a little when he nodded with her. “To ask if you...Strictly informally mind you...Marianne Danaher…” He glanced over at her and grinned. “Spinster.” He emphasized the word enough that if he hadn’t been here on professional business Marianne might just had given Thaine Flynn a good knock on the head. 

“And party to the second part…” Thaine continued with a chuckle. Then he stopped speaking. 

Marianne looked over, her eyes still wide and anxious. “Go on, you were saying…” she encouraged. 

Thaine opened his mouth to continue only to stop and shake his head wiping his fingers across his lips. “Gosh, me mouth is like a dry crust, and the sun is that hot on me pate…” He looked up at the offending sun to emphasize his point. 

Marianne knew exactly what Thaine Oge Flynn was after and why he was drawing this little play out the way he was. The little man liked a good drink, and he liked a bit of drama. She would have usually given the man a stern talking to and sent him on his way, reminding herself to drop by and speak to his wife and let her know what the silly little man had been up to, but not today. Today she was anxious to hear what he had to say. Today she would give the older man every drop of liquor in the house if it meant he would continue telling her what Bog King wanted, even though she knew. Her heart beat hard and fast with excitement and joy even as her lips burned with the memory of their shared kiss. 

She turned that excited smile now on Thaine, nearly blinding the older man with how beautiful she was when she wasn’t frowning. 

“Would you be stepping into the parlor Mr. Flynn?” she asked sweetly. She knew her brother would lose his temper if he knew that Bog King had sent a matchmaker over to their house, but he didn’t have a lot of say in the matter, no matter what he might think. And if she wanted to entertain a guest, well he didn’t have much say in that either as she pointed out to Thaine without really saying it. 

“The house belongs to my brother, but what’s in the parlour belongs to me,” she said with a smirk on her lips and a fire in her eyes. She turned and started for the house turning to look over her shoulder at Thaine. “You coming?” 

Thaine wobbled and grinned. “I shall then and I hope there’s a bottle there, whoever it belongs to…” He chuckled as he turned to follow Marianne inside. 

* 

Marianne had never been more grateful than at that moment to find no one else in the house as she escorted Thaine into the parlor. 

The fire was burning merrily in the fireplace and Marianne directed Thaine to a chair before she hurried into the kitchen and returned with an old glass bottle of whisky and a cup. She filled the cup with just a sip, but Thaine frowned at the small drink before holding the cup up to Marianne with a smile. 

“You’ve a fine steady hand,” he said as a means of encouragement. 

In response Marianne poured a bit more whisky into his glass, then set the entire bottle right down next to him before she hurriedly pulled a stool up to Thaine and sat looking at the man anxiously. 

The little man held up the glass in a toast, grinning at her. “To good bargaining!” 

Marianne nodded and watched him as the little man downed the drink like water. She began to fidget, wondering if Thaine would stay sober long enough to tell her what Bog King wanted, though he wasn’t close to sober now either. 

Thaine sighed happily and set the glass aside. “All-rightie, to resume...The party of the first part…” 

Marianne excitedly murmured. “That’s him!” 

Thaine narrowed his eyes at her as he continued. “Has instructed me to inquire before entering into formal negotiations whether the party to the second part…” 

“That’s me!” Marianne gasped, pressing her hands close together in her excitement, an excitement that surprised her. 

“Thinks kindly of the general idea...or, as if in his own words…” Thaine frowned in slight confusion as his drunken mind searched his brain as to how Bog King had said it exactly. 

“He said…” He frowned then smiled. “Oh yeah, he said he wants to know if you go for it?” 

“Go for it?” Marianne looked confused by the phrasing. 

Thaine continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “And if you do, I’ll speak to your brother…” 

Marianne’s excitement faded in an instant. “My brother?” She sighed, shaking her head. “That won’t be easy.” 

Thaine snorted, shaking his head. “As well I know it. He’d as soon put his fist in me teeth as bid me the time of the day.” 

They both looked at each other and exchanged a forlorn look knowing exactly how Brutus Danaher would behave. 

Marianne shook off the momentary gloom and asked. “Tell me, what did Bog...I mean the party of the first part say about me fortune?” 

Thaine smiled as if he was about to impart some of the best news ever heard. “He says he doesn’t give it…” He hiccupped messing up his sentence and spoke again. “He says it’s a matter of complete indifference to him.” 

Marianne blinked. “What?” 

Thaine grinned. “He says he doesn’t give a…” He caught himself, then said instead. “He says it’s all one to him if you come in the clothes on your back, or without them, for that matter.” Marianne made a small squeak of surprise, jumping to her feet and hurrying a few steps away so that Thaine Oge Flynn didn’t see the expression of pure joy on her face. He wanted her, Bog King wanted her as she was with no fortune, just her. She quickly schooled her features even as it became hard for her to breathe, the drumming in her ears becoming a little louder. When she was sure she wasn’t going to betray her excitement, Marianne turned around to face Thaine again, but this time she was ready to be indifferent as well as insulted. 

“Oh he did, did he?” she asked in an imperialistic tone. “Well, a fine opinion he must have of me if he thinks I’d go to any man without a proper fortune!” She stomped over to tower over Thaine who looked a little annoyed as Marianne continued her tirade. “This you may tell your Mister party of the first part, that when I wed, whatever’s my own goes with me.” She grabbed Thaine by his shoulders and pulled the small man to his feet. “Now, up with you little man…” She began to lead him into another part of the parlor, but Thaine quickly went back to retrieve his glass of whisky, sensing he’d be needing a bit more to drink to get through this little circus he had gotten himself twisted around in. 

* 

The room was filled with beautiful furniture that Marianne was pulling the dust cloths off of to show Thaine while she walked around the room, listing off her fortune. “These pieces are all mine, as is that China…” She pointed to a cabinet where a beautiful piece of china sat on display behind the glass. “...and linen...and fifty pounds in gold my father left me, as well as some of my mother’s rings and brooches that she left me. Oh, and my grandmother’s wedding veil and some of her silver combs and buckles and…” Marianne stopped to glare at Thaine, to make sure the little man knew exactly what her fortune was and to translate that information to Bog King. 

“Thirty pounds odd in notes and silver I’ve earned this past fifteen years.” 

Thaine looked genuinely surprised. “Well, you’re a well-propertied woman!” 

Marianne smirked, even as her heart beat wildly at the thought. “And I’d have you tell him that I’m no pauper to be going to him in my shift!” 

Thaine nodded as he turned to head into the other room with a smile and a wave. “I’ll be back presently...lost the bottle…” He mumbled tottering out of sight for the moment. 

Marianne’s heart burst with joy. She looked around the room that carried all the things she would bring into a marriage. Marianne smiled as she let herself feel what she hadn't allowed herself to feel in a long time--pure joy. That American, the man with the sky blue eyes and the dangerous lips wanted to court her!! Her! Spinster indeed! 

Marianne did a quick spin of joy in the middle of the room before dashing over to yank the dust cloth off of a piano. She plopped down at the keys and began to play, a song bubbling from her lips in her joy and happiness. 

“The young May moon is beaming, love, 

The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love; 

How sweet to rove 

Through Morna's grove, 

While the drowsy world is dreaming, love! 

* 

Thaine, having found his bottle, wandered back into the room and over to Marianne asking inquisitively. “Do you know the Peeler and the Goat?” 

Marianne looked slightly insulted. “I do not.” 

“Me either…” Thaine shook his head sadly and drunkenly. 

She glanced over at Thaine who seemed far more drunk now than when he had entered the house. “Do you want some water with your whisky?” 

Thaine looked insulted. “When I drink whisky, I drink whisky, and when I drink water I drink water…” 

“I’m sure Mrs. Flynn wouldn’t be happy to hear that,” Marianne muttered under her breath which earned her another insulted look from Thaine who cleared his throat. “Now back to the business that brought me here. What answer will I give Bog King, Marianne Danaher?” 

Her snarkiness bubbled to the surface as she turned to Thaine. “Well, you can tell him from me…” In the next instant Marianne blushed bright red, her voice going soft as she turned away from Thaine. “...that I go for it.” 

Thaine grinned brightly at her and spit into his hand before holding it out to her. Marianne giggled and spit onto her palm before taking Thaine’s hand, the two of them giving a firm shake. 

Marianne had never been more overjoyed in her entire life. 

* 

Later that early evening, walking briskly beside Thaine along the path that led to the Danaher place, Bog was dressed in his own Sunday best. A black suit that he had paired with a red tie, burgundy vest, and matching black bowler hat. In his hand he carried a small bouquet of wild roses from his garden. He felt odd, stiff, and more nervous than he had ever felt in his life. 

He was trying to do his best not to clutch the roses too tightly in his hand as he asked Thaine for the dozenth time. “How do I look?” 

“You look fine. Stop worrying.” Thaine chuckled. “You’re acting as if you’re going off to war man.” 

When they arrived at the front door to the Danaher house, Thaine went up to knock while Bog, his hands sweaty and his heart beating rapidly, stood just behind him. Bog resisted the urge to reach up and rub the back of his neck, a nervous habit he couldn’t quite break. He stood still for a moment, unsure exactly what to do with himself since he had never been courting. He began to pace. It was the only thing he could think to do with all the nervous energy that was building up in his stomach. 

Bog was so focused on his nerves that he didn’t see Marianne peak out the window between the lace curtains at him. She had taken her time to brush her hair out until it fell in soft, shiny, reddish brown waves around her shoulders. She was wearing one of her nicer white blouses with a light beige skirt, a clean white apron around her waist. Even from the back, Bog King was an amazing sight in his fancy suit and bowler hat, his back tall and straight, his shoulders broad... Never had she seen another man look better. The heat that accompanied her nerves rushed through her body, causing parts of her to burst into a hot flash of want like she had never felt before. Her eyes wandered down his lean body, admiring the way he filled out the suit he was wearing even as her cheeks turned a bright red. Her gaze lingered on the man’s backside too long to be proper before Marianne smiled and quickly she vanished away from the window. 

* 

Thaine walked over to Bog. The short man was a little more sober than he had been this afternoon (especially after his run in with the wife. Someone had tattled on him and he got a lecture...and a kiss, a little vinegar with a little sugar before she had sent him off to fetch Bog King.) He gave the younger man a critical once over, inspecting King’s suit. He frowned ever so slightly before he reached out to adjust Bog’s tie and brush away some invisible dust. 

Bog’s eyes suddenly widened in panic as a thought occurred to him. “Hey...what do I say?” He looked down at Thaine like a drowning man who only now realized he was drowning. “I don’t know what to say!” Bog’s voice trembled, on the verge of panic. 

Thaine waved a hand at him dismissing his concerns. “Nothing lad, you don’t say nothing. I’ll be doing all the talking.” Thaine patted himself on the chest with an air of authority. “You just look pretty,” the older man added with a grin. 

“I’m supposed to stand here like a dummy?” Bog looked surprised, confused, and maybe a little irritated with a lot of frustration thrown in. He was so nervous that his stomach was doing flip flops and his heart was beating so loudly he couldn't think. He was used to knowing what he was doing, having a handle on any situation. 

Bog King wasn’t accustomed to being scared witless. 

Thaine shook his head seeing the terrified gleam in Bog King’s eye. Young people, he thought, a bunch of silly fools. 

* 

Inside, Marianne raced into the kitchen where her brother was eating a late dinner. She slowed her pace at the last second before walking casually over to stand beside her brother as if not a thing was amiss. Brutus sat alone eating, completely unaware of anything but his food. Dawn had gone out to do something or other, and Marianne had been occupied with thoughts of Bog coming over, so she had missed where Dawn was going. All she knew was that Sunny was taking her somewhere. She thought they might have gone shopping in town...maybe. 

She hadn’t told her sister about Bog King wanting to court her, though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe she was a little afraid that if she voiced it out loud, then it wouldn’t happen, that she had dreamed it, been wrong… 

Maybe Bog King had sent Thaine over here for...other business and she had been wrong. What if..? 

But when she saw Bog outside in his best suit, with a hand full of flowers, her heart had skipped a beat. 

He was here to court her!! 

Marianne looked down at her brother as he ate. She was vibrating with nervous energy, so she rolled the sleeves of her blouse up while struggling to keep the nervous, excited tremor out of her voice. “There’s someone come to call.” 

Her brother frowned looking over at her. “Who?” 

“It’s ah...Thaine Oge Flynn and...uh...there’s a gentleman with him,” she said swiftly, then added as her nerves threatened to overwhelm her. “Here…” She picked up her brother's suit jacket from the back of his chair. “Why don’t you put on your coat?” 

Brutus didn’t move, simply sipped his tea. 

Marianne nerves got the better of her as she held her brother’s coat up and yelled. “BRUTUS DANAHER!!! They’re coming to the front door!!” She shook his coat at him to emphasize her words. Brutus groaned, turning to look at his little sister in irritation. “Well, since when is the back door been not good enough?” 

Marianne wanted to bean her brother across the head! Why was he being so obtuse?! She glared at her brother, tossed his jacket back onto his chair and stormed off as she headed to the front door. 

She took a moment, running her hands nervously over her apron before she opened the door, her eyes immediately rising up to gaze into the blue eyes of Bog King. 

Both men removed their hats when Marianne opened the door with Thaine announcing. “God bless all in this house.” 

Bog stared down at her. His voice sounded steady as he said with a smile. “Good Evening.” 

Marianne continued to stare up at Bog while Thaine spoke. “Miss Danaher, we would like a word with your brother.” 

Marianne just couldn’t tear her eyes away from Bog King’s blue eyes. She was lost in his warm, seductive gaze, that smile of his with his slightly crooked teeth. She could barely breathe, but she managed to say softly. “Come on in, so…” Her voice became breathless. “...and welcome…” 

She stepped aside. 

Bog held out his roses to her, causing Marianne’s eyes to widen even as Thaine called out. “Easy now!” 

The two men followed Marianne inside, but she and Bog kept staring at each other, turning in a circle around each other. They seemed unable to look away from each other. 

Thaine rolled his eyes before clearing his throat and announcing loudly as Marianne came to a stop between the two men. “Mr. Bog King, bachelor, meet Miss Marianne Danaher, spinster.” 

Marianne who had been smiling up at Bog turned to give Thaine a glare because of the way he had emphasized the term spinster, but just as quickly her gaze went back to Bog. She curtsied as Thaine continued. “Miss Danaher, meet Mr. King, from Pittsburgh, Massachusetts, USA.” 

Bog was blushing as he bowed to Marianne deciding not to correct Thaine about where he was from since the other man knew nothing about the States). His blue eyes twinkled in a way that made Marianne want to throw herself into his arms. “Good evening, Miss Danaher,” he said in a soft tone that caressed Marianne’s ears. 

Marianne opened her mouth to speak and her voice squeaked, betraying her nerves. She quickly cleared her throat and started again. “This...way, please.” She had lowered her voice a little too much as she turned and led the way toward her brother who still sat at the kitchen table eating his dinner. 

Marianne stopped beside her brother and began. “This is my brother…” 

Brutus mumbled around the bite of biscuit in his mouth. “Leave the room.” 

Marianne tried again only to have Brutus interrupt her once more with a mutter. “Leave the room.” 

The look that Marianne gave her brother could have cut a diamond in half. 

She battled with herself for a moment before she finally narrowed her eyes, turned on her heel, and left the room. She was going to give her brother a chance to do the right thing, but as God as her witness, if he messed this up for her, he was going to find himself in a hell of his own making with her feeding the fires under his feet. 

Bog watched her go, his smile dropping a little as Brutus grumbled. “Well sit down, that’s what chairs are for.” 

Brutus put on a fair gentile expression with a smile that made Bog uncomfortable as he addressed Thaine. “If you’ve come for supper, yer late.” 

Bog walked around to the other side of the table feeling awkward with his bundle of flowers in his hand and no Marianne to give them to while Thaine gave a short bow to Brutus. “A gracious invitation, but thank you, no. Though if you have a drop of anything wet in the house, I wouldn’t be saying no to that.” Thaine grinned a little, but Brutus simply pointed to the pitcher of milk on the table along with the pot of tea. “Help yourself to the buttermilk, or the tea--it’s still warm.” 

Thaine frowned followed by a shudder. “Buttermilk…” Muttering under his breath he added, “The Borgias would do better.” 

Bog smirked though he was glad there was no alcohol--Thaine was only now sober! 

Thaine cleared his throat and instead launched into his prepared speech ready to do the job that Bog King had asked him to do. “We’ll come, with your permission, to the object of this visit. You’ve noticed, I presume, that I’m wearing my official black coat…” Thaine smiled gesturing grandly down at himself before he began to pace a little while Bog clutched his roses (beginning to crush the stems) and his hat in sweaty, nervous hands. 

Brutus continued with his supper glancing at Thaine and giving his outfit a once over before turning his attention back to his food and ignoring Bog completely. “I have. For your dead friend here?” He gestured with a fork at Bog without looking at him. 

Bog ground his teeth and glanced to heaven muttering soundlessly for the strength not to knock this man’s lights out while Brutus grumbled loudly. “I’ll need no shaughraun to arrange any marriages for me!” 

“Oh, I see you’ve been making fine progress have ye, with the widow Tillane then in the last ten years, huh? Or is it eleven years?” Thaine quirked a brow at Brutus watching as the other man’s face turned red with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. It was well known throughout the village that Brutus Danaher had been in love with the widow Tillane since the moment he had laid eyes on her. When her husband died, Brutus had started a strange sort of slow courtship with the widow Tillane after a few years had passed. 

That courtship had gone on for well over ten years. 

Brutus had fumbled at every attempt to woo her. He was not a romantic man and had no idea how to approach her (plus refusing to heed any advice given by his sisters) and so they had been going back and forth over the White O’Morn property during that time in a strange, twisted courtship that was clearly going nowhere. 

Brutus kept his temper in check, but only barely. “Oh, that's why you’re here?” 

“No!” Thaine said with derision in his tone. “No, no, I’ve come to talk about Marianne and him.” He pointed at Bog with his hat. 

Brutus narrowed his eyes. Bog had noticed that the man hadn’t once looked at him since he’d entered the house and now, even as his anger was building, didn’t look at Bog. “IF he was the last man on the face of this earth and my sister was the last woman, I’d still say no!” To emphasize his point and disgust, Brutus slammed his fist on the table causing the dishes to clank together. 

Bog was beginning to lose his own temper as he growled. “Now just a minute…” 

Thaine stepped in. “If it's a question of Marianne’s fortune…” 

Brutus scoffed. “Fortune? If it was but a shilling piece he wanted with her, I’d still stay no!” 

Bog groaned and let out a frustrated sigh turning his attention to Thaine. “Oh come on Thaine, this is doing no good….” He put his hat angrily on his head and started to walk away. “...I’ll just explain it to her myself…” 

Brutus surged to his feet turning around to look right at Bog for the first time since he walked into the house. “HEY YANK!! I’ll count to three and if you’re not out of the house by then, I’ll loose the dogs on you!” 

Bog stopped in mid-stride, perfectly still. His back straight, he stood at his full height towering over the other two men. His anger was threatening to bubble over. Marianne was her own woman and it annoyed him that her brother was such a pig headed...fool. If Marianne didn’t want him, then let her say so herself, but he suspected--hoped beyond hope--that wasn’t the case, but he’d be damned if he let this stubborn ass of an older brother stop him from courting her. 

His voice lost all emotion as he stared down at Brutus Danaher and in a soft, yet frightening voice said clearly. “If you say three mister, you’ll never hear the man count ten.” 

Brutus stared back at Bog in shock as the room grew quiet. 

Bog glared back at Brutus before he turned and marched out of the house just as Marianne came jumping down the stairs dressed for going out in a dark straight blue skirt, her white blouse and a tan coat, a smile on her face only to watch as Bog went for the front door. 

Thaine stopped long enough, a frown on his gentle face, and shook his head. Marianne’s smile dropped away, her eyes wide and filled with shock and sadness. 

Bog was about to walk out the door when he turned and saw Marianne on the stairs looking as beautiful, if not more so, than the day he saw her in the fields. He hurried over to her, couldn’t leave without speaking to her. 

“Marianne…” He frowned looking down at the floor for a moment before he said softly. “We tried…” 

Thaine said soft, sadly from behind Bog. “We’ll see him again some other time.” 

Her entire body trembled with emotions. Tears, something Marianne hated, shimmered in her eyes and choked her throat. She had wanted this more than she had been willing to admit even to herself. She had wanted Bog King to court her….she wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life and now… 

She swallowed and dug up her dignity as she said, in as controlled a voice as she could muster, “I thank you anyway Bog King, for the asking.” Her voice broke despite her best efforts, a tear hung on her lashes as she struggled with her emotions. 

Bog’s heart broke looking at her, looking at the woman he knew he wanted more than anything on this earth, and realized he wanted Marianne Danaher to be his wife. His anger and frustration bubbled up again as he said with determination: “You don’t think this changes anything, do you? It’s what you say that counts Marianne Danaher, not him.” Bog pointed into the room where Marianne’s brother still stood. 

Thaine shook his head. “No Bog, you’ve gone too far. That’s enough.” 

Bog growled in frustration. Maybe it was his American upbringing, but he was not going to let Brutus Danaher stand between him and the woman he had discovered that he loved. He had lost too much to lose her when she was standing right there looking at him with those big, beautiful brown eyes. 

“We’re going to get married,” he said with determination before adding with clear confusion. “Aren't we?” 

Marianne stared at him, so many conflicting emotions and thoughts raced through her head. She could say to hell with tradition, but there wasn’t just her brother to think about, there was her sister too. There was her family name, her fortune...everything. 

Struggling not to cry even as tears started to slowly roll down her cheeks, Marianne turned and raced up the stairs back to her room. 

Bog looked confused watching her go before he turned to Thaine, looking helpless. “I don’t understand…” Bog whispered in confusion. 

Thaine put a hand on Bog’s shoulder. “This is Ireland Bog, not America. Without her brother’s consent, she couldn’t, and she wouldn’t...no matter her own feelings on the matter.” He squeezed Bog’s shoulder. “I am sorry for both of you.” He smiled gently. “Never did I see such a blooming love between two people before, but…” He shook his head again. 

Bog’s eyes widened slightly, his mouth settling into a thin, angry frown. He marched out of the Danaher house only to find that it had begun to rain while he was inside trying to court the woman he now knew he wanted to marry. 

In his frustration, his anger and despair, Bog threw the roses down and stomped off into the rain with no idea where he was going. He just knew he didn’t want to go home to his empty cottage. 

His dreams of bringing Marianne there as his wife had been shattered. 

* 

Above in her bedroom, her eyes red with tears, Marianne watched Bog walk away. Her heart was broken. 

She watched until the tall black figure of Bog King disappeared into the rain before she finally let herself cry, throwing herself onto her bed. 

She cried still, even when she heard her sister return home. 

Her sobs continued even when Dawn came into the room, her voice soft in query, and sat down on the bed beside her. Dawn pulled her big sister into her lap and Marianne buried her face against her sister's lap, wrapped her arms around her waist and continued to cry. 

The dreams she had just begun to allow herself to entertain were shattered. 

Dawn held Marianne until she had fallen asleep, tears in her own eyes. She didn’t think their brother really understood what he had done… 

How he had hurt Marianne.


	4. The Race

Over the next several weeks Bog settled into a dark mood, dark enough that the entire village felt it. 

He had stopped trying to make the cottage into a home, instead doing only what needed to be done to make the place livable. He bought himself a horse--a dangerous one known for throwing it’s rider, but Bog didn’t care. He began riding that horse over the roads and through the fields as if the devil himself were after the tall man. 

Everyone in the village had quickly learned what had happened between Bog King, Marianne Danaher, and her brother Brutus. They would all watch Bog King as he would ride across the countryside, he and the horse tearing through the hills. His anger and heartbreak followed him like a dark cloud of misery. 

Thaine stood outside his home smoking his pipe along with his wife. They both watched Bog on the back of his black horse. The two of them thundered past, Bog commanding the horse to go faster. 

Yelling out a warning Thaine tried to get Bog’s attention waving his pipe at the man. “EASY BOG!!” The man and horse raced by, leaping over a fence with ease as they continued across the countryside at a breakneck speed. 

Thaine shook his head muttering, “That boy is going to kill himself.” 

His wife, Steffi, a pleasantly plump woman with frizzy red hair and a kind smile who towered over her short husband, wiped her hands on her apron as she watched the young man speed by. “Things can’t stay like this Thaine. Marianne has lost her smile. I haven’t seen that young woman smile once in all these weeks. I swear she brings the rain with her wherever she goes…” She sighed and motioned at Bog’s retreating back. “And him...I’ve never seen a man so angry, in so much pain. You should do something about it.” She knocked her hip into her short husband, nearly knocking him down. 

“Well, what do you expect me to do about it woman? I ain’t his priest to go talking to him about his troubles. And Brutus Danaher won’t let me within an inch of that house,” Thaine protested giving his wife a perturbed look. 

“I don’t know Thaine Oge Flynn, but you better find a way or you’ll find all your whisky gone!” His wife glared at him before she turned and stomped back into their home, the door slamming behind her. 

Thaine narrowed his eyes at the door. “All my whisky, ye don’t know where I hid it all now, do you?” 

From the window right behind him, Steffi Oge Flynn yelled. “I know every place you’ve hidden your bottles old man, don’t think I don’t. You’ll find all of them gone, even the one in the barn!” Thaine jumped a foot when his wife yelled at him from the window before he grumbled to himself around his pipe. “That woman’s a witch…” But he smiled, admiring the fact that he never could pull the wool over his Steffi’s eyes. 

* 

Bog was racing along the path that led into town when he saw her, saw Marianne on her bike riding along the path. He felt his heart skip a beat and he couldn’t take a breath. She looked beautiful, her reddish brown hair catching the weak sunlight that leaked through the cloudy sky wearing a smart, long brown pencil skirt, matching blazer, and a chocolate brown sweater that he knew would make her eyes seem almost black in her beautiful pale face. His heart cracked at the sight of her, beautiful, wild… 

He wanted to leap off his horse and sweep her into his arms, but he couldn’t, not only because of her brother, but because of her. She had chosen to follow her brother. She had chosen to follow some antiquated notions of family and love. 

She hadn’t chosen him. 

Bog’s heart was shattered and he didn’t know if it would ever be healed again. 

At the same time that Bog’s gaze landed on her, Marianne saw him, and her breath caught at the sight of him. He looked ferocious, his blue eyes blazing bright under his cap, dressed in a black rain coat and jeans on his black horse. If he had told her he was CúChulainn himself, she would have believed him. Her grip on the handles of her bike became sweaty as he slowed his horse down keeping several feet away from her. She knew about his wild rides through the countryside, had watched him, taking off along the hills at dangerous speeds, not caring about his safety or his life. 

Her heart ached every time she saw him racing away. Fear mixed with her love for the man even though she knew she could never have him. 

Even knowing this, Marianne stopped her bike when she came alongside Bog and his horse. 

Bog turned his horse slightly to face her. “Hello, Marianne Danaher.” He tried to control his tone, but he just couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice when he spoke to her. 

Marianne stared back at him, not a trace of bitterness in her own tone, only sadness and longing. “Good morning Bog King.” 

Bog stared at her and she could see the heartbreak in his gaze. He looked unsure for a moment, his lips parting, though no words came out. They were suspended there at that moment on the path, one on either side. Finally Bog took a breath, looked over his shoulder before he turned to look back at her. They stared longingly at each other before Bog turned his horse and took off, speeding away from her. 

Marianne’s chin trembled with emotion, fighting the tears and watching Bog race away from her. He and his wild horse leaped over a fence ti head into the hills. She watched the man she’d fallen in love with in such a short time disappear, taking her heart with him. 

Swallowing down her pain, she slowly climbed back onto her bike and rode home. 

* 

That afternoon, Thaine sat at the table in the Reverend Playfair’s home, along with his wife Steffi, and Father Ian Lonergan. 

Mrs. Playfair came into the room carrying a tray with tea and biscuits. Steffi stood to help the other woman set out the tea as Father Lonergan muttered, “This has to stop. That boy is going to kill himself.” 

“And Marianne is wasting away, you can see it in her eyes,” Steffi added mournfully. 

“So what’s this about a plan?” Thaine asked, holding his hand up to refuse the tea--which he didn’t like without a shot of whisky in it--only to receive a dirty look from his wife who set the tea cup down in front of him with more force than was strictly necessary. 

The Reverend Playfair grinned, sharing a look with Father Lonergan. “Well, the day of the Inisfree races is approaching...I say we spring a trap on Brutus Danaher…” 

Thaine grinned leaning forward. “What kind of trap are you talking about?” 

Playfair and Lonergan exchanged looks before Reverend Playfair shared his idea. “Well, the plan is simple--we convince Brutus that Bog is now after the Widow Tillane.” 

Steffi, who had been sipping her tea, nearly dropped her cup. “What?” 

Mrs. Playfair giggled in such a way that she sounded like a young woman. “It was my idea. We all know that Brutus Danaher is in love with the Widow Tillane even though the poor man hasn’t been able to ask her courting this entire time, thinking that the promised sale of White O’Morn to him would be the key winning her, which we all know is foolish.” 

Everyone at the table nodded. 

“What we need to do is make Brutus think that he might lose his chance with the widow because of Bog. If he thinks Bog King is after the Widow because he refused to let him court his sister, it’s sure to get under that big blowhard’s skin. He’ll be showing Marianne out of the house and into Bog King’s arms in a heartbeat.” She smirked looking at everyone at the table. “It’s sure to work.” 

Thaine frowned, glaring at his tea and setting the cup he had picked up down again without taking a sip. “Jealousy, eh?” He nodded with a mischievous grin. “There's nothing worse than a jealous man…” 

Steffi chuckled, elbowing her husband. “No, there isn’t. Do you think this will work?” 

Mrs. Playfair nodded. “I do. That Innisfree race will be a perfect setting to this plan. First we have to convince Mr. King to take the Widow’s bonnet…” 

* 

The day of the Innisfree Race, which was held along the beach by the water, was a typical windy, cloudy, wet day. The sounds of bagpipes filled the air as the Widow Tillane and the Playfairs made their way up the benches to find a good seat from which to watch the races. Everyone from the village and nearby countryside descended on Innisfree for the races, one of the biggest events where everyone could get together for good food, good music, and hopefully a good show. 

Marianne arrived wearing a lovely blue dress, a straw bonnet wrapped with a blue ribbon on her head with her little sister Dawn, who wore a bright green dress and matching straw bonnet wrapped with a green ribbon. Marianne carried a large picnic basket with her as the two sisters hurried across the field to jump into the back of one of the wagons that was carrying people across the green and down to the beach to watch the race. Marianne’s heart pounded hard at the thought that Bog was going to be here today, racing. She felt excited to see him, terrified to see him, and sad; so many emotions mixed up inside her. Regardless, she wouldn’t have missed seeing Bog race for all the world. 

Dawn sat down beside Marianne in the cart, wrapping an arm around one of her sister’s arms. “Are you all right?” she asked, her lips close to Marianne’s ear so that she could be heard over the bagpipes as well as keeping her question away from other ears. 

Marianne frowned, chewing the side of her bottom lip before she replied, “As well as I can be.” 

Nodding her understanding Dawn replied, “He’ll be racing against Brutus…” 

“And Sunny,” Marianne added with a smile. 

Dawn giggled, her cheeks turning an instant rosy red. “Yes…” 

“How are things between the two of you?” Marianne asked after she quickly looked at the other women to make sure none of them were listening. It wouldn’t do to have word of Dawn and 

Sunny getting back to their brother. After what he had done to her, Marianne would be damned if she was going to let Brutus hurt Dawn in the same way. “You two still talking about running away together?” 

Dawn blushed brighter, glancing around before she whispered, “Yes, but…” 

Marianne frowned and finished her sister’s sentence. “You don’t want to.” 

“No...my dream is to marry in the same church our parents were married in.” Dawn’s voice carried a trace of sadness. “But Sunny dares not ask for my hand after the way Brutus reacted to Bog. I mean, I know the selling of White O’Morn is between them, but Sunny works for Brutus…” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to do…” 

“I wish I could help you,” Marianne murmured. “But if you want a chance at happiness, you may have to do something you don’t want…” 

Dawn nodded and sniffed as the threat of tears hovered on her lashes before she smiled. “Enough melancholy talk,” she said with a slap of her palms on her lap. “We’re here to watch the races.” 

Marianne nodded too, then smiled with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “I hope Bog leaves our brother in the mud.” 

Both young women giggled, cuddling together as the wagon carried them closer to the windy beach and the race. 

* 

Over near the horses, Father Lonergan was helping to saddle a lovely, healthy white horse, but he turned and grabbed his companion Father Eric and hissed. “Now, ye remember what I told you--make your speed when you hit the water.” 

Father Eric nodded as his mother wrapped a colorful ribbon about the biceps of his left arm. “And ride carefully now, son.” 

“Yes Mum,” he said dutifully. 

Nearby, Bog, dressed in brown pants, a black buttoned shirt, and brown vest, arrived with his black horse. One of the race officials hurried over to him. “Your colors, King…” 

Bog silently held his left arm out while the official wrapped ribbons in red, white, and blue around his arm to represent his colors--being American and all--around his left biceps just as Marianne and Dawn arrived and quickly settled in to watch the race. Her eyes lit up under her bonnet when she saw Bog, looking tall, slender, and dashing while the ribbon was tied around his arm. He was smiling, something she hadn’t seen in a while. It wasn’t a full smile, but it was more of a smile than she had seen from him in weeks. She swallowed, watching him, and reached up to unpin her bonnet from her hair, a blush rising on her cheeks. Bog never saw her, never looked her way, but even so she ran her hand over her hair even as the wind tried to pick up the loose strands from the long tail she had pulled her hair back in. She looked down at her bonnet in her hands. 

Dawn noticed her sister from the corner of her eye and turned. “Marianne?” 

Marianne blushed a brighter red before she murmured, “I’m sure he doesn’t even know the reason for the bonnets…” 

Dawn shook her head. “I know for a fact he does because Sunny told me he told Bog that the single ladies put their bonnets on stakes by the finish line and the gentlemen race to grab the bonnet of the lady they’d like to court.” 

Marianne didn’t say a word as she continued to stare at her bonnet, a mix of frustration, anger and pain all boiling up inside her. 

“I’m going to put my bonnet up,” Dawn said suddenly. 

Marianne looked over at her little sister with wide eyes. “But why? If Sunny grabs your bonnet…” 

Dawn held her head up. “Then Brutus will just have to put up with it. I’ll not let my brother tell me who to give my heart to.” Dawn jumped down from their seats and stomped toward the finish line. Marianne felt proud, fearful, and ashamed. She should have more spunk like her little sister, but... 

* 

Billy, dressed in a top hat and a bright red coat, stood in the stands next to Dermont and Mrs. Playfair. He grabbed up a bullhorn and yelled through it. 

“Ladies!!! Gentlemen!! Your attention please!!” 

Everyone turned toward the announcer. 

“Will all the lovely ladies who are putting up their bonnets for the Innisfree cup, please place their bonnets on the finishing line!” 

The Widow Tillane stood on the dock near Bog, the two of them speaking, while Thaine and Steffi Oge Flynn were standing nearby. The widow removed her bonnet, while Marianne, still blushing scarlet, looked down at her own bonnet in her hands. She worried at the brim of her hat, running her teeth along her bottom lip, and her bonnet suddenly felt heavy in her hands. 

Dawn returned, no one really paying attention since it was expected a young, pretty woman like herself would put her bonnet up (though Sunny watched her with wide eyes, a smile on his lips.) 

She plopped back down into her seat next to her sister. She glanced over at her sister who continued to look down at her bonnet in her hands, and asked, “Will you not be putting up your bonnet Marianne?” Dawn was surprised that Marianne still hadn’t moved. She would have thought her sister’s stubborn streak would be the one reason that would drive her to put her bonnet up. 

Marianne pressed her lips together, staring at her bonnet as she continued to worry at the brim, twisting the bonnet around in her hands. 

She looked over at the other ladies who were walking over to the finish line, putting their bonnets up before she growled. “I will not…” 

Dawn looked a little surprised. “No?” 

Her face twisting into that stubborn line that Dawn was all too familiar with as Marianne hissed through her teeth, “No.” She put her bonnet back on her head, forgetting to pin it. Immediately the wind whipped her bonnet off her head. 

* 

Bog helped the Widow Tillane down from the small dock where she had been standing. The older woman smiled and headed off to put up her bonnet. After she was out of ear shot Bog smiled and gestured at Thaine. Thaine and Steffi had been working to convince Bog that he should grab the Widow Tillane’s bonnet, even if he wasn’t interested in courting her because it would cheer the older woman up and it would look good for him to grab one of the bonnets, and it might as well be the Widow’s since they were friends and she had sold him the land to his family home. 

Bog watched her walk away with a frown. “All right, Thaine, the widow’s bonnet…” he said just before he walked away heading toward his horse. 

Thaine shared a glance with his wife, both of them looking pleased by Bog’s statement. Their part of the plan had worked. 

Billy called through his bullhorn. “Will all the gentlemen riders please go to the starting line!!” 

Thaine turned and lifted his wife, with some effort, up on the dock to sit before he quickly got out his betting book as men started to swarm him, placing bets on the riders. Thaine was quickly writing bets down, saying them out loud even as he wrote them. 

“Yes sir, a crown at 20 to 1 on the yank…” He’d just finished writing the bet down, calling out loudly, “I’m giving 20 to 1 on the yank!!” when Brutus came up behind him. 

Steffi, who was sitting on the old wooden dock behind her husband gave the large Danaher a dirty look as he towered over her husband. She kept her mouth shut, though she had several words to exchange with the man. 

Thaine looked up at Brutus, then yelled. “I’m giving 30 to 1 on Dan...” He gave Brutus another look before he quickly changed the bet. “40 to 1 on Danaher!” 

Brutus glared down at Thaine. The big man was wearing a shiny shirt and matching cap of red and blue that made him to stand out from most of the racers. He growled down at the shorter man. 

“You’ve been doing any matchmaking between Bog King and me widow? If you have so help me Thaine Oge Flynn, I’ll put ye in my book!” 

Steffi balled her hands on her lap. She felt a powerful urge to jump up and tell Brutus Danaher what she thought of him, and how dare he try to threaten her husband… 

But she stopped herself. This was all part of the plan. 

Father Lonergan quickly walked over, trying to remain nonchalant when he saw Brutus approaching Thaine. The four of them had laid a careful trap of rumors. Now it was time to see if the gossip mill of Innisfree had done its job. 

“Ah, so you’ve heard, huh?” Thaine said with only a slight smile on his lips as he looked up at Brutus. 

Brutus turned his attention to the Father once the man was close enough. “Father Lonergan, what sort of a scoundrel is this yank? One minute, ‘tis me sister, and the next, it’s herself!” 

Thaine smiled and shrugged while Father Lonergan glanced toward Steffi. “Well, blame no one but yourself. If you’d retained me as matchmaker, you and the widow would have been married long since.” 

Father Lonergan struggled not to smile, so instead he glanced down at his shoes, using the cane he had with him to knock something invisible from them as he muttered, “True, true.” 

Thaine was warming up to his role in their little charade and shrugged. “Mind you, I’m not saying it’s too late yet…” 

Brutus blinked and Steffi was forced to cover her smile with her handkerchief, pretending her laugh was a cough as Danaher asked anxiously. “What do you mean?” 

Thaine motioned Brutus close and whispered. “Why do you supposed the Widow Tillane had stood you off so long, huh? You’re a fine looking man aren’t you?” 

Brutus puffed up his chest. “I am.” 

Thaine threw himself into his role. “A rich propertied man?” 

Brutus nodded, his chest puffing out a little more. “And well she knows it!” 

Thaine looked over to Father Lonergan. “Father, will I tell him?” 

It took Father Lonergan a moment to school his features into something serious. “Go ahead Thaine…” 

Thaine winked at the Father before turning back to Brutus. “Now what woman would come into the house with another woman in it? Two at that!” 

Brutus blinked, dumbfounded while Thaine continued. He saw a chance to make two, possibly three matches at once. He glanced over at his wife who knew without being told where her husband was going. Everyone in Innisfree--minus Brutus Danaher--knew about the secret love between Sunny and Dawn. 

Thaine continued. “You get yer sisters out of the house, the widow would have been in like a shot.” 

“No…” Brutus muttered, but with little conviction while Thaine, struggling not to grin responded with a high pitched. “Yes! You had your chance to get rid of one sister and you flubbed up.” 

Thaine shook his head with regret. “You refused Bog King and he reneged on you. Now I doubt if he’d take your sister if you put a thousand pounds on her.” Thaine shook his head a little more dramatically, receiving a dirty look from his wife who thought he was laying it on a bit thick. 

Brutus looked upset and confused. He turned to look over at Father Lonergan. “Father Lonergan…” 

The Father shook his head too before he spoke. “Well, I can’t say it’s true and I won’t say it’s not...but...there has been talk.” The Father swallowed. He wouldn’t lie, but dancing around the truth was permitted, and there had been talk in town about Bog and Marianne. 

Thaine shook his head. “Oooh, a lot of talk.” 

Steffi wrinkled her nose, but she added, “There has been a lot of talk.” 

Brutus glanced back at her, looking a little startled as if he just now realized she was there. 

“A lot of talk?” He looked at Steffi, his eyes wide, asking for her opinion without actually asking her. Steffi just gave Brutus a knowing look and nodded, her lips in a thin line of disapproval while she struggled to hold in her laughter. 

Thaine nodded while looking slightly appalled. “Lots of talk, three women in the house and one of them a redhead…” He shook his head even as Brutus opened his mouth to protect that Marianne’s hair wasn’t exactly red, but then he remembered how her brown hair was filled with red highlights that glowed red in the sun and he quickly snapped his mouth shut. 

Brutus just muttered, “Three women…” He walked off, clearly lost in thought. 

Thaine, Steffi, and Father Lonergan all watched Brutus walk off. 

Thaine muttered. “Three our Fathers and three hail Mary’s.” 

All three of them only looked slightly ashamed of the lie they had just set in place. 

* 

Marianne had her bonnet back, clutched in her hands. Mrs. Playfair walked past Marianne, her bonnet in her hand. 

“Morning Marianne…” The older woman headed over to put her bonnet on one of several old wooden poles that were lined up at the end of the racing path. She watched as the Widow Tillane and Mrs. Playfair set their bonnets on the poles along with her sister. 

A moment later Brutus came storming over to Marianne and growled when he was close enough. “Don’t sit there gawking! You’re putting up your bonnet!” 

Marianne glanced once at her brother, her back going straighter, her jaw clenching with temper as she hissed right back, “I’ll do no such shameless thing.” 

“You will!” Brutus yelled at her only to have Marianne turn and yell right back at her brother. “I WILL NOT!” She added with a growl. 

Brutus steamed for a few moments. “Why can’t you be more like Dawn!! Sweet and obedient!” He pointed at Dawn. Marianne stuck her nose up in the air and ignored her brother while Dawn frowned at her brother and muttered, “I’m not obedient all the time.” 

While other women went about putting their bonnets on the posts, Marianne watched Bog walk by her. He didn’t even look in her direction. She had no idea how hard it was for him, but he walked past, smoking a cigarette and doing his best to ignore her while leading his black horse along. 

He looked dashing, she thought, a tall, handsome man against the grey Irish sky... 

She swallowed as he walked by without so much as a glance in her direction. The Widow Tillane came up to where Marianne was sitting, her hands clutching her bonnet tightly. 

“No bonnet Marianne?” The widow asked with a raised brow before adding with a slightly smirk on her lips. “What a pity…” The widow smiled and turned to walk away. 

Marianne stared after the woman, a look of shock on her face. Now what did the widow mean by that? 

Marianne glared at the other woman’s back. She didn’t know what she was up to, but no one was going to pity her!! Jumping down from her seat, Marianne practically snarled. She stomped up to the posts, her bonnet in her hand, marching down the beach past her sister who was standing on the opposite side of Sunny’s horse (currently staying hidden from Brutus) while she and Sunny whispered together. Dawn popped her head around the horse to stare at her sister as Marianne stopped at one of the empty posts and shoved her bonnet down almost violently on the post, adding the white ribbon that was holding her hair back at the nape of her neck before she curstried to the men by the posts who were there to mark the bonnets and the race. 

She spun around, her head held high and marched back to her seat without looking at anyone. 

Dawn giggled and whispered to Sunny. “Oh, someone got under her skin, otherwise it would have taken the devil himself to get her to put her bonnet up.” 

Sunny chuckled. “Think she heard the rumor about the widow and Bog?” 

Dawn’s light blue eyes widened. “What?” 

Sunny chuckled, giving her a quick rundown of the rumor, and the plan that everyone knew, except the intended victims of the Innisfree plot. 

* 

Bog, along with Brutus and the contestants, rode their horses down onto the beach. Bog had never been in a horse race before, though he saw plenty back in the States. Those races weren’t like this one however. His weeks of trying to break his neck in the Irish countryside had prepared him for this race though and he felt fairly confident in his abilities. 

While he and his horse Ciarán made their way down to the starting line, Bog tried to nonchalantly glance over at Marianne. She looked a beautiful sight, the breeze blowing her hair about, her cheeks red with the wind--and probably her temper. Smirking, Bog imagined the fire in her brown eyes and the firm and stubborn set of her jaw. Marianne Danaher was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and his heart continued to ache for her. 

He’d seen her put her bonnet up, causing his heart to skip a beat and his breath to come out in a ragged whoosh. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath the moment she had started her march to the post. Looking at her was killing him. He loved her, loved her with such an intensity it frightened him a little, but he was still so hurt after her rejection...all because of her brother. 

Bog glanced over at Brutus Danaher, who brought his horse up alongside Bog, but didn’t bother looking at him. 

Narrowing his eyes, Bog turned his focus to the race. He didn’t care if he won or not, only that he beat Brutus Danaher. 

Sunny, wearing a checked jacket shirt of white and black, came up along Bog’s other side smiling. “Did you see that the Danaher sisters both put their bonnets up?” 

Bog frowned murmuring to himself, his feelings mixed. “Marianne put her bonnet up.” 

“She did.” Sunny said with a grin. “I’m taking Dawn’s bonnet and I don’t care who knows I want to court her.” 

“Everyone but that thick headed brother of hers,” Bog snarled with a surprising amount of venom. 

Sunny frowned in response to Bog’s tone, but said nothing. He could understand why Bog was so angry. He felt angry too. 

“Well, good luck Bog,” Sunny said, reaching out his hand to his cousin. 

Bog gave Sunny a rare, subdued smile, something that had become very rare these days. “Same to you cousin.” 

* 

Back near the crowds Billy called out into his bullhorn. “Betting will now stop and the sale of all intoxicating and alcoholic drinks will cease!” 

The groan from Thaine could be heard just barely above the noises of the bagpipes and the crowds, making Billy smirk as he added loudly. “I mean that now!” 

* 

At the racing starting line, six men on their horses waited for the signal. The other men were dressed in more traditional “jockey” type shirts and hats except for the young Reverend and Bog. Marianne sucked on her bottom lip, her eyes on Bog who looked even more dashing on his horse than he had standing earlier. Her heart did a little flip and she squeezed her hands together. Dawn flopped down next to her sister, her cheeks red, and her eyes dancing with giddiness. 

“Who do you think will win?” she asked her sister, but Marianne simply shrugged, not taking her eyes off Bog, even as she glared at him, angry and hurt. 

* 

Billy called out. “Sergeant-major, in your good time please!” 

The Sergeant-major, dressed in red like Billy, brought his bugle to his lips and blew the starting sound. The horses took off, leaving Bog behind. Smiling, Bog turned his horse and gave chase while the crowds along the beach raced up and stood along the unmark trail of the race. 

Marianne pressed her lips together as she watched. The race, she knew, was a rough trip, starting on the relatively flat and sandy beach, but quickly heading up into the hills over some tough terrain. 

Everyone watched with bated breath as the men and their horses raced up a steep and rocky hillside, then back down the other side, taking several twists and turns around the hillsides and the sandy path. Bog, who had started in the back was quickly gaining ground, he and his horse moving like one creature as they took the sharp turns along the dunes. 

Two older men were watching the race through binoculars, calling out fouls as two riders hit each other, but if anyone cared they didn’t show it as the men ignored the calls. The race moved quickly, splashing through the shallows and tide pools, the men and animals moving with speed and grace over the sand and along the water as they headed to the finish line. 

* 

Billy and Dermont watched as Brutus tried to side swipe Bog to gain the lead, but Bog quickly maneuvered his horse out of the way just barely avoiding the swipe. He and his horse kept moving at a breakneck speed despite Brutus’s attempt to dismount him. 

Billy muttered. “Look at that crazy Danaher…” 

Dermont chuckled, crossing his arms and leaning close to Billy as he whispered. “Now wouldn’t be wonderful now if he broke his blasted neck?” 

Billy chuckled pulling out his pipe and started to put some tobacco into it. “Maybe he will now, God willing…” 

Both men shared a laugh watching the racers. 

* 

The men and horses swerved to race through a tide pool, though Bog and Brutus were running neck and neck. 

The Widow Tillane was watching the race closely through her own binoculars, sitting in a folded wooden chair next to the Reverend and Mrs. Playfair. Her heart was beating quickly in her chest as she watched the race, the finishing line not far. Her eyes were locked on Brutus, watching the way the big man leaned into his horse when she suddenly stood up and yelled. 

“BRUTUS!! BRUTUS COME ON!!!” 

The Reverend and his wife both looked over at the widow with astonishment. The Widow Tillane suddenly seemed to realize that she had been yelling, and she’d been yelling her encouragement for Brutus Danaher. Her eyes widened for a second, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she quickly took her seat again, keeping her binoculars on her eyes and ignoring the smirks on faces of the Reverend and his wife. 

* 

Dawn was shivering with excitement next to Marianne. Sunny had caught up to Brutus and Bog, riding for all he was worth. 

“I don’t know if I can keep watching!” Dawn giggled pressing her knuckles against her lips. 

Marianne’s gaze was on Bog, her eyes wide. He looked so dashing and handsome on his horse. 

The crowds cheered loudly as the racers hurried by, up the hill and back down onto the beach... 

* 

Standing on the sidelines, Father Lonergan began yelling at the top of his lungs. “COME ON BOG!!” 

Father Paul’s mother looked over at the Father in shock. The man blinked as if only now realizing what he had been yelling and quickly corrected himself. “I mean Paul!! FATHER PAUL!!” 

* 

The men raced for the line of wood poles, the ribbons of the bonnets fluttering in the wind. Bog surged ahead of the other riders, reaching out and snagged the Widow Tillane’s bonnet as he zipped past, winning the race. 

The rest of the riders swarmed past, grabbing bonnets as they did. 

Sunny grabbed Dawn’s, coming in third, a wide grin on his face as he held her bonnet in the air. Dawn squealed with excitement, though she failed to notice the way her sister went pale… 

The only bonnet still on a wood stake, unclaimed...was her own. 

For a moment the sting of humiliated tears settled in her eyes. 

Dawn had jumped up and raced over to meet Sunny while the other attendees raced to greet the riders, but Marianne didn’t move. Never in her life had she felt so humiliated, angry, and heartbroken. 

She had hoped that just maybe, Bog would grab her bonnet even knowing that he wouldn’t after what her brother had done, after she had… 

Her chin trembling from the effort she was putting forward to control her tears, Marianne turned and made her way home. 

* 

Reverend Playfair rushed over to Bog as he dismounted. “Fine race Bog, fine race! You rode like a trooper...trooper…” The Reverend frowned repeating. “Trooper…” Clearly his memory was being jogged and Bog felt a wave of cold wash over him as the Reverend repeated to himself. “Trooper...Trooper...Thorn King…” The Reverend gasped. “I knew I’d seen you somewhere before!” He grinned at Bog with recognition. 

Bog’s face turned pale. He’d known the Reverend would be on to him soon, but... 

He hissed, knowing now that the thing he had wanted to keep hidden was now known by at least one person here. “Now that you know, I wish you’d keep it under your hat. Please forget it...please.” Bog gave the Reverend a pleading look. 

Reverend Playfair looked a little confused by Bog’s request, but he nodded. “I understand. It’ll be our secret.” 

“Thank you,” Bog said softly just as the crowd swarmed around him and carried him off to have the Widow Tillane give him the winning cup. 

Bog grinned handing the Widow her bonnet. “Your bonnet.” He smiled as he handed the hat back to her. 

* 

Nearby, after dismounting and leaving his horse for the handlers to take care of, Brutus walked over to where Father Lonegran, Thaine, and Steffi were now sitting (with Father Lonergan having casually wandered over) looking annoyed as he watched the Widow Tillane give Bog the cup, some flowers and then, to his shock and Bog’s, if his expression was anything to go by, a kiss right on the mouth! 

Brutus swallowed his shock, his face pale, his heart sinking. “Thaine, does your offer still stand?” he asked in a contrite tone. 

Thaine smiled and shrugged, trying to look indifferent, his attention on his little black bookie’s book of bets. “Well, that depends. You mentioned 500 pounds…” 

Steffi just barely stopped herself from kicking her husband while Father Lonergan was doing his best to keep his expression neutral. 

Brutus grumbled. “350 pounds and not another penny.” 

Thaine shook his head back and forth a little, sucking on his bottom lip in thought before he said. “Well, I’ll speak to me principal for the first part.” 

Brutus nodded looking over at the Widow and Bog with the expression of a man clearly heartbroken.


	5. Vows and Fists

Two days later, the morning dawned bright with just a hint of clouds on the horizon promising rain at some point, but Bog didn’t care. All he could think about was Marianne. 

The church bells were ringing in the village as he paced in front of the Danaher house wearing his best suit, his bowler hat, a bouquet of flowers consisting of roses and primroses in his hand, and at least half the village sitting on the stone fence around the Danaher property there to witness his courting of Marianne Danaher, something no one thought they would ever see. Bog could see Sunny and Dawn, sitting at the far end; he couldn’t see it from where he stood, but Sunny’s and Dawn’s pinkies were wrapped tight around each other. Sunny and Dawn both knew that if things went well for Marianne, then Sunny’s and Dawn’s romance had a chance too. 

As Bog paced, waiting for Marianne to come out, he did his best to try to not look up. He purposely kept his gaze on the ground because the moment he looked up he would see all those eyes watching him. He knew the villagers meant well, but it put a lot of pressure on a guy to live up to...well, whatever it was they were thinking he needed to live up to! 

The front door to the Danaher home opened and Brutus emerged, dressed in his fine tan suit. 

He rushed out the door muttering, “Come on! Come on!!” 

Hurrying behind Brutus was Marianne, dressed in a light lavender dress with lace sleeves and a collar and a wide brim straw hat over her dark, reddish-brown hair. Closing the door behind them was Thaine dressed in his best black suit, clearly relishing his role as matchmaker, while behind him came Father Lonergan with his Bible in hand. 

Brutus Danaher marched up to Bog, tried to tower over the younger man, unable to help himself, but Bog stood a little straighter, his full height making the slender man look impressive. His sister came to stand on Brutus’s other side, looking around her brother at Bog, whose eyes twinkled when he saw her. 

Brutus was sweating in his effort to control his anger at Bog King and this strange sense of loss over his little sister. Taking a deep breath, Brutus looked at the gathered crowd and projected his voice, his tone like a politician. “Well now...the banns have been read, and no man objecting…” Here Brutus leveled a harsh gaze at everyone as if they were the reason it had taken this long for Bog and Marianne to start courting and not himself who had caused the problems. Brutus looked over at Bog, wrinkling his nose like he smelled something foul even as he said loudly. “I’m permitting this man to court me sister…” He gestured at Bog. 

Bog smiled brightly at Marianne who blushed and smiled back at him, their eyes unable to look anywhere else but at each other. 

“...but under the usual conditions…” Brutus barked out with a grin. 

Bog’s attention was finally drawn to Brutus. He looked confused, having no idea what the usual conditions were, which was what Brutus had counted on. He couldn’t stop them courting, but he could make it difficult for the American and his American ideas now couldn’t he, Brutus thought with glee. 

“Mr. Flynn!” Brutus addressed Thaine who had climbed up on his coach and sat waiting. “What?” Thaine looked startled to be addressed. 

Brutus continued addressing Thaine, but continuing to project his voice for the small crowd. “Do you assume the full responsibility?” 

Thaine grinned, glancing over to where his wife sat against the wall with some of the other women from town. She smiled proudly at her husband which made the little man puff up his chest as he announced. “I do. I do. From now on, they’ll do the walking and the talking under me own eyes.” Thaine reached up to pull the skin down from under one eye and stared hard at Bog and Marianne. 

Brutus, seeming satisfied, announced loudly. “Well, let the courting commence!” He nodded firmly and walked away. 

Bog’s heart beat hard and fast, his hands felt sweaty, and his stomach had given birth to butterflies, but finally, he had taken the first step to making Marianne his wife. She smiled up at him as he handed the flowers to her. He saw that her brown eyes were warm and deep. He reached for her, turning to help her up onto her seat on Thaine’s carriage when Thaine poked Bog in the chest with his riding crop. 

“Here, none of that now! None of that! Hands to yourself on your own side of the road.” Thaine admonished Bog who glanced over at the Father who shook his head in the negative. 

Bog stepped back from Marianne, still looking confused as Father Lonergan took his place to help Marianne up while Thaine muttered at Bog. “Other side of the cart boy!” 

Once they were both seated on separate sides of the cart, their backs facing each other, did Thaine, after a quick inspection to make sure they weren’t making eyes at each other, whistled softly at his horse. The horse began to walk at a gentle pace. 

The moment the horse began to pull the cart, everyone gathered jumped up and cheered, some of them chasing the cart and cheering as Thaine drove them away to begin their courting. 

* 

As the cart pulled away, Brutus hurried back into the house, then came rushing out a moment later with a large bouquet of red roses and daisies in his hand. He saw the Widow Tillane standing by the path smiling, watching the young lovers roll by. Brutus went still for a moment when he saw her. The weak sunlight had somehow found her, shining down only on her. She looked fetching in a dark blue dress and matching straw hat with a light green ribbon. She was a beautiful woman, Brutus thought. When the widow started to walk away, Brutus finally broke out of his trance. He rushed across the path to her. “Widow Tillane!” 

She stopped and turned, a slight frown on her face. “Mr. Danaher?” 

Stopping his jog, he slowly walked the last few steps toward her. Once he was within reaching distance of her, Brutus held the flowers out. “Elizabeth, these are for you.” 

Tillane’s eyes widened in surprise at the use of her given name, but the flowers that he handed to her were an even bigger shock. 

Elizabeth looked down at the flowers in her hands. They carried a lovely fragrance and the flowers themselves were the most vibrant bit of color she had ever seen. She looked up at Brutus Danaher, suddenly seeing the old grump in a completely different light. 

Smiling and looking shy, Brutus Danaher asked gently, “Can we talk?” 

Blushing, Elizabeth nodded, her heart skipping a beat. “Of course.” 

* 

Thaine drove the couple into the countryside, the best place for a young couple to be able to talk, he thought with a smile, remembering his own courtship. 

Bog turned around as Thaine drove the carriage trying to catch Marianne’s eyes, but Marianne remained resolutely facing away from him, her hands folded in her lap, the bouquet he had given her tucked safely between the cushions on the carriage. She had to know Bog was looking at her, but she never once even glanced over her shoulder at him. 

Pressing his lips into a thin line of annoyance, Bog turned to face Thaine’s back. “I don’t get it, why do we have to have you along?” He didn’t mean to sound as irritated as he did, but he felt irritated. He’d hoped to take Marianne out for a walk, alone, maybe hold hands and even steal a kiss, talk about a future together, but this? Bog felt as if he was a child being watched by his mother! 

“Back in the States I’d drive up, honk the horn, the gal would come running…” Bog didn’t get to finish before Marianne spun around to glare at his back. 

“Come a-running?!” She made a rude noise. Bog turned around to face her as best he could. “I’m no woman to be honked at and come a-running!” Marianne glared daggers at Bog. “And if you think I’d come running just because you honk your horn at me, well...you’ve another thing coming!” Marianne growled and turned back around, her back ramrod straight and her hands folded into fists on her lap. 

Bog looked more confused than ever as Thaine snorted. “American, huh. Prohibition, huh.” He gave a shudder like America had to be the most primitive, backwater country on the planet. 

Bog looked between Thaine’s back and Marianne’s, clearly at a loss. He’d lost an argument he hadn’t been aware he was having. 

They rode along for another minute or two in silence when Thaine leaned over and bumped Bog’s shoulder before pointing with his riding crop. “Do you see that over there?” 

Bog looked in the direction that Thaine was pointing. He could see the ruins of an ancient stone church nearby. Thaine said with confidence, “That’s the ancestral home of the ancient Flynns. It was taken from us by...ah...” Thaine seemed to search for the word before he said, “...by the druids.” 

Bog didn’t see it, but behind him, Marianne turned to see what on earth Thaine was speaking about. She saw the stone church ruin, which in turn caused her to level an incredulous glare at Thaine’s back, but she didn’t say anything against what Thaine had said. 

“Come up there…” Thaine muttered to the horses while Bog folded his arms across his chest with a look of clear disbelief in his blue eyes, but he didn’t debate with Thaine on whether the old ruin was the ancestral home or not. He simply shook his head and smirked. 

* 

They had traveled quite a distance, traveling along an old path that led them alongside a large, blue river and lake. Thaine frowned, looking from Bog to Marianne; neither of them had said a word to the other since their little disagreement. It was quite peculiar Thaine thought with a frown. 

“You two are the quietest couple I ever courted,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Both of you, quiet as a couple of church minds. We’ll get nowhere at this rate, you two will be sitting there staring at the countryside and accomplishing nothing.” He shook his head as he brought the horse to a stop. He sighed, shook his head again, about the break one of the courting rules, but at the rate these two were going he’d still be riding them out around Christmas. 

“Oh go on, off with you. Why don’t you do a healthy mile or so...just to get used to walking correctly together, eh?” Thaine glanced over at Marianne, who beamed with pleasure. 

Bog didn’t need to be asked twice. He leapt off the carriage and hurried around to Marianne’s side, grabbing her around her waist to lift her off the cart. Marianne eagerly reached for him, but 

Thaine put his hand out. “Now now, she’s a fine healthy girl.” He narrowed his eyes at Bog. “...no patty fingers if you please.” He gave Bog a hard final stare. 

Pressing his lips together, Bog slowly let go of Marianne’s waist and stepped back, instead holding his hand out to her. “No patty fingers,” he stated to assure Thaine that he would be respectful. Marianne took hold of Bog’s hand with a final look at Thaine before she hopped down and quickly let go while under Thaine’s critical eye. They started to walk down the path, side by side, keeping just a little space between them. Thaine let them walk past him, then several paces down the path ahead of him before he started to follow them, slowly. 

The day was beautiful, even with the threat of clouds. The sun was finding its way through to shine down on them. Bog glanced over at Marianne to see the sun catching the red highlights in her hair and making her glow. Smiling, Bog studied her profile, the slight up turn of her nose, the pretty shape of her lips, her chin. 

“Nice day isn’t it?” he said as a way to start a conversation with her instead of continuing to walk in silence. 

Marianne smiled shyly at Bog, her hands behind her back as she nodded. “It is that Mr. King, it is that.” 

Encouraged, Bog continued. “That’s a pretty bonnet you’ve got on…” 

“Bonnet?!” Marianne asked with a flash of anger in her voice. She’d stopped walking to glare at Bog with a look that might have killed a lesser man where he stood. “Bonnet!! Don’t you dare be talking to me about bonnets!!” The humiliation at the races wasn’t so far back that Marianne had forgotten about it, her bonnet, left dangling, alone on the timber, unclaimed, and in front of everyone! Her voice turned to a growl. “After leaving mine stuck up there like a…” Marianne was getting herself worked up. 

Bog reached for her hands, wanting to explain, but Marianne whipped her hands out of his reach. “Why I…” she began, but Thaine had caught up to them. 

“Easy now!! Easy now!!” he yelled, stopping the horse to glare at the two of them. “Is this a courting or a donnybrook?” he asked with just a hint of humor in his tone. Shaking his head, Thaine addressed Marianne. “Have the good manners not to hit the man until he’s your husband and entitled to hit you back.” 

Marianne gasped in shock, but Bog chuckled and shook his head. “I’d never lay a finger on you Marianne, even if you did hit me.” He smiled at her, that charming, crooked tooth smile that made Marianne feel warm and gooey inside. 

“Well, you better not and...” She frowned looking down at her shoes. “...I...I am sorry.” Marianne slowly started to walk again, with Bog falling into step beside her. “I have a fearful temper,” she said quietly as an explanation. “You might as well know about it now instead of finding out about it later.” She held her head up proudly. “We Danahers are a fighting people.” 

Bog was quiet as he strolled along beside her, his hands behind his back, but his voice had a mischievous tone. “I can think of a lot of things I’d rather do to one of the Dananhers…” He glanced sideways at her to see Marianne smirking at him. “...Miss Danaher.” He said her name with such a seductive air that Marianne felt her cheeks and ears turn red. “Shh...Mr. King,” she said softy, a giggle on her tongue. “What will Mr. Flynn be thinking?” she asked with barely contained amusement. 

Bog looked back at Thaine following them a small distance behind, then back to Marianne and whispered, “That you’re a fine healthy girl who can defend herself.” 

Marianne giggled. 

They continued to walk for a few more minutes, both of them silent, taking turns looking over their shoulders at Thaine. After a bit, Bog reached out and brushed his fingers along her hand. Marianne responded by brushing his fingers, then, with a last look over his shoulder, Bog reached out and took her hand. They smiled at each other, holding hands while they walked with Thaine saying nothing about it. 

* 

They walked for a long time, silently strolling next to each other even as more clouds began to ease across the sky. They’d walked long and far enough, without making any headway because of Thaine trailing behind them that Bog was beginning to lose hope that he would have any time alone with Marianne when he saw the church, the church where he had dipped his fingers into the holy water...and resting near the gate was a bicycle for two...the Revender and Mrs. Playfair’s bike. 

What Bog contemplated then was a sin, but… 

“Do you know how to ride a bike?” he asked Marianne quietly. 

She spied the bike as well, and when Bog asked her about the bike, Marianne knew exactly what he was thinking because she had been thinking it too. She nodded with enthusiasm. 

Bog smirked at her. “Well, what are we waiting for!” He grabbed her hand and together they took off at a run. 

They raced to the bike, Bog getting up on the front seat while Marianne took the back. Thaine, who had brought the horse to a halt when Marianne and Bog had stopped, stood up and yelled as he watched the two young people nick the bicycle. “Marianne!! Bog!!” 

Neither of them listened, taking off quickly on the bike. Thaine grumbled and sat down, urging his horse to start moving again. The horse did, but she kept up the same slow pace she had been walking since they left the Danaher house only picking up a little speed when Thaine started to shout after Bog and Marianne. “Come back here at once!! You shameless hussy you!! You Cassanova!!” 

Bog and Marianne sped down the street and into the village, both of them pedaling quickly, then letting the downhill curves of the path speed them even faster along. Thaine was yelling while he pursued them only to have his horse come to a quick and sudden stop in front of the pub. Thaine blinked in surprise as he turned to see the pub before grinning at his horse. 

“B’gad, I think you have more sense than I have meself,” he said affectionately to his horse before turning his attention to the pub. He hopped down and opened the doors to the pub with a grin. “Well, being a matchmaker is a thirsty duty, no one would blame a man for wetting his whistle...and given those two young ones a chance to make some real progress,” he whispered for the benefit of no one but himself. Besides, he knew even his Steffie couldn’t get mad at him about this. With a wide grin, Thaine sauntered into the pub. 

* 

Bog and Marianne rode the bicycle out of the village and back into the countryside riding until they came across the ruins of a stone abby. Marianne, feeling young, free, giddy with happiness and the possibilities for her future with Bog, took off at a run when they got off the bike. 

Bog, whose attention had momentarily deviated, looking at something in the far distance, turned as Marianne fled. He watched her running off for a few seconds, grinning as she bounded gracefully across the landscape, his heart thumping hard at the sight of her, as beautiful and graceful as a fairy. After another heartbeat of watching her, Bog gave chase, following her as Marianne spun around the corner of what looked like the remains of a stone house. 

When he came around the corner, Bog saw that Marianne had stopped by a stream that moved lazily along behind the old building. She had stopped at the edge of the water and had kicked off her shoes. As he approached her, she began to pull her nylons down her legs. When she lifted her leg up and began to roll the nylon down her calf, Bog thought he might die right there. He was trying his best not to stare as she lifted her leg, pulling her dress up past her knees, but he found it difficult to avert his gaze. Her legs were shapely and her skin had just enough sun to show that she wasn’t the type of girl who stayed inside. Her nylons were rolled just under her knees and she rolled them down her smooth, creamy legs. Bog sucked his bottom lip in and quickly turned away even as his body reacted to her. He was forced to turn his hips away or embarrass himself. 

Marianne glanced over at Bog while she pulled her nylon off her foot to see that Bog’s cheeks and the tips of his ears were crimson, and even the tip of his long nose looked a bit red. He was purposely trying not to look at her, but he kept shooting glances at her over his shoulder. She blushed, but she also grinned as she finished pulling her nylons off. Never had a man reacted to her the way Bog did. His clear attraction to her made her feel powerful, attractive, sexy, as well as making her like him even more. She liked knowing his attraction to her was just as deep and compelling as her attraction to him. Blushing herself, Marianne held onto her stocking and grabbed her shoes before dashing across the water which splashed up, soaking the hem of her dress. 

Bog watched her go, his mouth hanging open. She looked like a nymph as she danced across the water, turning to look over her shoulder at him, her eyes bright and her smile beautiful before she took off again. 

He quickly gave chase. 

* 

Marianne stopped at the remains of a stone wall. Her legs and feet were still wet, the hem of her dress soaked as she slipped her shoes back on, stuffing her nylons into the pockets of her dress while smiling the entire time. She had just finished slipping on her shoes when she caught sight of Bog coming up the hill after her. Giggling, Marianne quickly got to her feet and hurried off across the field, jumping small mounds and stones with the nimbleness of a deer, only stopping long enough to see that Bog was still following her. 

Bog stopped as he came to the remains of the stone wall, could see Marianne in the field, her eyes bright in the weak sunlight, her smile like the morning sun. Slowly, she reached up and unpinned her hat from her hair. Rubbing his lips together, Bog reached up to remove his hat that he tossed over the stone wall before hurrying over to Marianne who started to walk more slowly through the field. After a few breaths, Marianne reached out and weaved her fingers with Bog’s. They walked hand in hand even as the grey clouds above gathered into thick groups, the promise of rain now on the air. 

* 

They walked for a while in companionable silence, holding hands when they came across the ruins of an ancient abbey and it’s ancient graveyard. Marianne led Bog into the cemetery that was dominated by large celtic crosses, some having begun to tilt to the side as age and weathering caused them to sink into the earth. 

Walking among the stones, Bog said softly. “If anybody had told me six months ago that today that I’d be in a graveyard in Innisfree with a girl like you that I’m just about to kiss, I’d have told them…” He gently took her by her shoulders and turned Marianne, who was smiling brightly, to face him, but Marianne suddenly balked. 

“But the kiss is a long way off yet!” she said, putting her back quickly to Bog as panic raced through her. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to kiss him, oh she did, more than anything in the world! She’d been dreaming about kissing Bog King almost from the moment she saw him, but now...well, she felt nervous, worried that she’d been no good at kissing. An American like him, attractive, he’d probably kissed lots of girls, but she’d only kissed one man and that had ended badly. 

Bog was utterly confused by Marianne, but he didn’t interrupt her as she continued. “We just started the courting...we start the walk out next month and the month after that there’d been the thrashing parties, and the month after that...” Bog wrapped his arms around Marianne from behind, his arms going around her waist. He pulled her up against him and laid his nose and lips against her hair that smelled like sunshine and green fields. 

“Nope,” was all he said in a soft, husky voice. 

Marianne went still. His arms around her waist felt wonderful, the heat of his body against her back, the tickle of his warm breath in her hair. She wanted to close her eyes and lean back against him, didn’t want to think about anything but Bog and kissing Bog, and lying down with Bog… 

Swallowing, she murmured. “Well, maybe we won’t have to wait that month…or for the thrashing parties...” 

“I’d rather not,” Bog whispered, brushing his lips against her hair. 

Marianne turned in his arms to look up at him, losing herself in his blue gaze. “...or for the walking out together…” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, her gaze drifting down to his lips, then back to his eyes. 

“No,” Bog whispered back as Marianne’s arms went around his shoulders. 

“Then so much the worse for you Bog King...” she whispered back. “...for I feel the same way about it myself.” 

She wrapped her arms tight around Bog, hugging him. Bog bent down to embrace her, hugging her to him like he would never let her go, and he wouldn’t. Once she was his wife, Bog was never going to let her go. 

The wind began to pick up, the storm that had been threatening all morning had finally moved in with a brisk wind and the threat of rain imminent. As if to warn them that a heavy storm was coming, lightning flashed across the sky, followed by the loud boom of thunder. 

Bog didn’t notice the terrified look in Marianne’s eyes as she looked up at the lightning, the thunder making her jump in surprise. As a little girl, she’d always been afraid of the big thunder and lightning storms, especially after lightning had struck one of the carts in the yard when she was little, before Dawn had been born. Brutus had protected her against the storm, coming to hold her under the table, telling her stories about Tuireann. 

She muttered a prayer and took off at a jog, stopping to stare up at the sky as another bolt of lightning zipped across the grey and black clouds 

Bog looked surprised when Marianne broke free of his embrace and hurried off a few paces, only to stop and stare at the sky again. He could see the fear in her gaze as he hurried to her, put his arms around her just as another crack of thunder boomed in the sky. Turning to bury her face against Bog’s chest, Marianne realized that with his arms around her, she didn’t feel as scared of the storm, of the lightning and thunder as she would usually be. Bog hurried over with her to the crumbled arched windows that remained near the graveyard, the arched stone providing a little bit of protection as the skies opened up and a chilly rain came down in a rush. 

Lightning cracked across the sky again, highlighting Marianne’s face in the pale light, her eyes wide, the lightning making the brown shimmer. Bog smiled. He wanted to ease her distress, slipped his jacket off, and draped it across her shoulders even as the rain soaked him through. He turned to look at the sky, the chilled raindrops soaking through his shirt into his skin, plastering his hair down, but he didn’t mind at all. He was here with Marianne--that was all that mattered. 

Another crack of thunder and Marianne let out a soft sound of fear and suddenly she was standing in the rain with him, in his arms, her small hands pressed against his chest. He looked down at her, the rain soaking her hair and running down her face. No one had never looked so beautiful, he thought as he held her close. Staring up at Bog, Marianne felt safe, protected, felt as if she was home. They stared at each other, the lightning dancing across the sky, the thunder forgotten; it was only the two of them. Bog leaned down as Marianne rose onto her toes, and their lips met. 

The kiss drowned out everything, the wind, the thunder, the lightning, the rain--none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered, that existed, was the two of them and this moment. Marianne opened her mouth to him and Bog answered her. When they separated again, Bog stared down at her with a tender smile. 

“I’ll always be here for you Marianne, always. I love you.” 

Marianne smiled, touching his chin. “Oh Bog, I love you,” she whispered. 

He pulled her close and Marianne kissed him again, and everything was right in the world. 

* 

Five weeks later on a Sunday, Bog found himself waiting at the end of the aisle of the church, wearing a black suit with a sprig of white heather in his boutonnière for good luck, and a blue tie that made the blue in his eyes look that much more brilliant. His hair was slicked back, but he could feel a trickle of sweat running down his spine as he waited. Next to him stood Sunny, in his own black suit, and next to Sunny was Thaine. Father Lonergan was standing at the head of the church waiting, grinning ear to ear, and the pews were filled with every member of the village. 

Off to the side, a flute player, harpist, and a bagpiper started to play, the music filling the space abruptly. Bog nearly jumped a foot, his hands tightening around each other, but his eyes turned to look down the aisle as the church doors opened. The sunlight shone in and Dawn appeared wearing a chiffon dress with cap sleeves in a soft green and gold. Her blonde hair was done up with ribbons and she carried a bouquet of white roses and primroses. 

Dawn walked down the aisle, all eyes on her and took her place at the front of the church, then the music changed, the tune both light and beautiful. Bog looked expectantly at the doors, his breath leaving his body when he saw Marianne standing, framed by the sunlight, her arm around her brother Brutus, who was dressed in his own black suit; he looked a cross between confused, angry, and maybe a little scared. Mesmerized, Bog stared as Marianne came fully into view. She wore a white, demure gown that featured a delicate crocheted Irish lace, with a floral pattern along with a high scalloped neck and long sleeves that formed a "V" pattern down the fitted bodice all the way to the waist where the skirt fell in another “V” shape and stopped just at her ankles. She wore a veil that was gathered around the crown of her head and fell back down along her back to the back of her knees. The bouquet she held was made from white heather, white roses, and little white primroses. 

Marianne’s eyes, which had been cast down in humility, looked up and locked with Bog’s blue gaze. She felt nervous, butterflies were dancing in her stomach, but the sight of Bog, tall, lean and devilishly handsome, waiting for her at the end of the aisle, chased the butterflies away, at least for the moment. 

As the music played, Brutus led his sister down the aisle, and all eyes in the church were on the bride. Once there he gave Bog a narrow eyed look and muttered, “Just so you know, I won’t be having her back in the house after this.” 

Bog smirked and said, “I won’t be giving her back either.” 

Grunting, Brutus looked at the Father who lifted an eyebrow at him, but Brutus said nothing else and instead he took his seat. 

Father Lonergan grinned and began the ceremony. “We are gathered here today...” 

Marianne and Bog gazed lovingly at each other, the rest of the church forgotten. 

* 

The reception was held at the Danaher home, which was just large enough for the village guests to move in and out Plus, as part of the wedding gift, Brutus was providing the food and drink that included some very nice wine and not simply Guinness. 

Several of the gentlemen were drinking and singing around the Playfair piano, a song that was making Bog a little annoyed as the lyrics rang out. 

“Ho ro, the rattlin’ bog, and the bog down in the valley-O… 

Rare bog, and a rattlin’ bog, and the bog down in the valley-O… 

In that bog there was a hold, rare hole and a rattlin’ hole, 

And the hold in the bog, and the bog down in the valley-O…” 

* 

Bog tried to ignore the silly song; instead he focused on Marianne. They had just had their photo taken, the flash having made them both jump a foot and see spots, and now they were standing at attention shaking hands, receiving praise, and wishes of luck as the guests all came by to congratulate them. Bog noticed that Marianne looked nervous. No, that was too mild, he corrected himself. She looked like a scared rabbit, as if she wanted to run, to be anywhere but in here and he couldn’t blame her. The room was nice, but it was crowded with people. All he wanted to do was take his new wife home and hold her, kiss her, just be alone finally, the two of them. 

Glancing sideways at her, Bog saw that Marianne’s eyes were wide with what almost looked to be shock, and her cheeks glowed red. He wasn’t sure what was wrong, but if she was nervous about tonight, their first night together, he would have told her not to be. He’d never do anything to make her uncomfortable, he’d wait until she was ready. Hell, if he was honest, he was terrified himself. It wasn’t as if he was experienced either. 

If they were alone, he could tell her that… 

* 

Marianne felt simultaneously terrified and excited. 

Tonight she would finally be a bride, a wife, and a lover to the most wonderful, handsomest man. And an American.... 

And while she was worried about their first night together, worried because she had no idea what to do or how to do...it...what really had her worried and scared at the moment was her brother and the issue of her fortune. Brutus had refused to give her a straight answer about all the furniture, jewelry, and silverware that was hers by right. His silence on the matter worried her, and, even more so, angered her. 

She was sure he was going to do something that was going to have her temper flaring in a heartbeat. And would he be Brutus Danaher otherwise? She choked back a heavy sigh. 

* 

Across the room, Reverend Playfair and his wife grinned as Thaine, along with his wife, came over with a tray holding three glasses of wine and his own glass of Guiness. Mrs. Playfair chuckled, holding up her glass in a toast that she whispered for just the three of them. “To a successful conspiracy.” She glanced over to the piano where Father Lonergan was currently playing and singing. She held her glass up to him and the Father smiled and winked. 

Sunny and Dawn, who had disappeared not long after arriving at the reception, appeared again looking slightly disheveled, if anyone had been bothered to really examine them. As they made their way into the main room where the bride and groom were, Sunny had his hand in Dawn’s as it had practically been all day. He walked over to the middle of the room where a small round table sat with a couple of candles and the book to register the marriage and the giving of Marianne’s fortune. Stopping beside the table, Sunny glanced at Dawn who gave him an encouraging nod. 

Smiling, Sunny held his glass up. 

“A toast to the bride and groom!” he called out, his call gathering the other guests into the room. 

Thaine walked over to stand next to Sunny and Dawn. “A moment please. As shaughraun, I say there’ll be no toasts until we’ve seen the bride's fortune.” 

Brutus, who was standing near the fireplace where the Widow Tillane sat, looking lovely in a soft pink dress, started to laugh. “The bride’s fortune.” He smirked at Thaine. “You’ll see it, never fear.” 

Thaine was not about to be dissuaded from his duties. He straightened up and said in a formal tone, “We’ll see it now then, if you please. The proprieties must be observed,” he added while motioning for Marianne and Bog to come over and stand on the other side of the table before he called out for Father Lonergan to join them. Brutus called for Packy who handed Brutus a pouch. When Marianne saw the pouch, her heart sank. 

Brutus opened the pouch and upended it onto the table. Several gold coins spilled onto the table as Brutus announced proudly. “350 pounds gold, a cartful of furnishings, linen, and pewter goes with the sister of Brutus Danaher.” 

Marianne grinned. Her brother hadn’t let her down! She almost couldn’t believe it!! For the first time in a long while Marianne wanted to throw her arms around her brother and kiss him. They had been at such odds for such a long time that it had driven a wedge between them, but now, when it mattered the most, he had come through for her! Marianne’s heart swelled with love and gratitude for her brother. 

Glancing over at Bog proudly, Marianne straightened her back. She had a decent fortune and she was rightly proud of it. Not many women in Inisfree could boast of such a fortune. Marianne’s eyes met her brother’s who smiled at her, his expression one of pleasure and pain both before he leaned down to sign the book. Marianne quickly glanced over at her sister who was grinning brightly back. Dawn gave her big sister a little wave before blowing her a kiss, which made Marianne smile a little wider. 

Sunny tried again for the toast. “Now a toast…” When no one objected, he continued. “May their days be long and full of happiness. May their children be many and full of health…” 

Bog weaved his fingers with Marianne’s as Sunny spoke. “...and may they live in peace and freedom.” 

Bog smiled and said softly. “Thank you Sunny.” 

“You are more than welcome Bog,” Sunny replied holding his glass aloft. “Cheers!” 

Everyone took a drink. 

Packy cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “Reverend fathers, ladies and gentleman, attention please. Squire Danaher has the floor.” Packy pointed over at Brutus. “Ah, in other words, he’s got something to say to youse all.” 

Brutus grinned as everyone's attention turned to him where he stood by the Widow Tillane’s chair. “I’ve got a little announcement to make.” Brutus grinned at everyone. “Fill up the glasses, go on, all of them!” 

Marianne shared a confused glance with her sister. Brutus seemed happy, too happy. 

Brutus took a sip of his Guinness, then cleared his throat before he began to speak. “Today, I’ve given my sister in marriage, the eldest of my two sisters. Now she is gone from the house of Danaher, leaving one more sister to go.” Brutus glanced over at Dawn who giggled. The rest of the gathered crowd giggled too. 

“But I suspect soon my littlest sister will be gone as well,” Brutus said, and his smile never faltered though Sunny turned pale. “But what’s a house without a woman in it?” Brutus asked the gathered crowd. 

Packy added loudly. “That’s right Squire! And what’s a house without a woman in it?” 

Nodding Brutus chuckled. “Exactly, where would any man of us be without a woman? Why even Father Lonergan had a mother.” 

Father Lonergan had no idea where this little speech was going, but he muttered, “What’d you expect?” 

Everyone chuckled though Marianne and Dawn’s accompanying chuckles were filled with worry. Brutus smiled and continued. “So, uh…” 

Packy picked up for Brutus. “So, without further eloquence…” 

Brutus picked up from Packy. “So, without further eloquence, I will give you a toast to myself, who is soon to be wed…” Brutus turned around to look over at the Widow Tillane who hadn’t moved from her seat. The poor woman looked flabbergasted as well as confused, her mouth open, though not a word had come out. 

Turning to Father Lonergan, Brutus put his hand out even as the Father felt his heart sinking. Oh, their little lie was coming back, God had decided to punish them after all for their scheming he thought with dread. 

But if Brutus noticed the change in the Father’s expression, he gave no indication as he tuned to face the Widow Tillane. “Now, all she has to do is to say that little word.” 

All the attention in the room turned toward the widow. 

Brutus smiled at her. “When’s the happy day Lizzie darling?” 

All the breath whooshed out of the widow as the shock hit her like a punch to the chest. Her mouth moved, but she didn't answer for a few beats, struggling to find the air, but finally her voice came out in shock surprise. “Have you lost the little sense you were born with?!” she asked louder than she intended, but she didn’t modulate her tone as she got to her feet. “Happy day indeed!” 

“But Lizzie darling…” Brutus protested. 

“Don’t you darling me, clod! And don’t you dare call me Lizzie!” The widow snarled. “Who gave you the right to make such an announcement?!” Tillane’s eyes found the Father and while she may not know what had happened to make Brutus Danaher think she was ready to marry him just like that, she could tell from the Father’s expression he had something to do with it. She slammed her glass of wine down on the table, shattering it before she stormed out of the room. 

Father Lonergan, Reverend and Mrs. Playfair, and Thaine and Steffie Flynn, all looked terribly guilty as Brutus protested loudly. “But Lizzie! They all said, but they all said…” He was clearly confused turning to their group. “Didn’t you tell me all I had to do…” 

Thaine protested. “Now, I did and I didn’t…” 

Brutus was shouting now, his humiliation and anger winning over his confusion. “Oh you lied didn’t you?! You all lied!” He spun around, snarling at the Playfairs. “It’s bad enough for you people, but my own priest!!!” He pointed an accusing finger at Father Lonergan. 

Brutus glared at them all before stomping over to Bog and Marianne, hissing like a snake. “You got her by fraud and falsity! You…” He thrust a finger into Bog’s chest nearly knocking him back a step. “It was you who put them all up to this!” 

Bog felt angry, angrier than he ever recalled being because Brutus Danaher may be his brother-in-law now, but he was ruining his sister’s wedding and Bog wasn’t going to stand for that. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled back at the other man. 

“Don’t you deny it!!” Brutus shouted loud enough that it almost felt as if the walls themselves had shook with his rage. Dawn made a soft whimper, prompting Sunny to wrap his arms protectively around her. 

Marianne sighed, she didn’t want to lose the tentative peace and goodwill she currently had for her brother, so she thought she would try to calm him down. “Brutus, for heaven’s sake, you’re acting a little crazy...” Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Marianne knew she had said the wrong thing. 

“Crazy am I??! Well, we’ll see who’s crazy. This is something you won’t get, now or EVER!” Brutus brushed all the gold coins off the table. “Now get out of here!” 

Marianne gasped, rushing over and dropping to her knees to gather up the coins while her brother began yelling over and over at everyone. “Get out!! All of you!!” 

While Brutus was yelling at everyone, Bog walked calmly over to crouch next to Marianne. “Come on Marianne, let’s go home.” 

Marianne shook her head. “No, not without my fortune! It’s mine, mine and my mother’s before me, and I’ll not…” 

Bog stood up taking Marianne by the wrist and pulling her up with him. She saw a look of stillness in his gaze that made Marianne pause. It was a look she couldn’t read and didn’t understand. As they both got to their feet, Bog turned just in time for Brutus to deck him, a swift right cross to the face that threw Bog off his feet. He hit the floor hard, his head bouncing with the impact, knocking Bog out cold. 

* 

In that split second between consciousness and unconsciousness, Bog heard the boxing bell ring. The sound mixed with the roar of the crowd that quickly dwindled as it became clear that this wasn’t a simple knock-out. 

Bog found himself in the boxing ring again. It was that night, that fight...he stared down at his opponent, the man was down...no...he wasn’t just down. Cold fear ran through Bog’s veins...the other man wasn’t unconscious. 

Once more Bog was reliving that moment, the night he had killed a man in the ring, the night he had ended his boxing career. Everything was in vivid detail; the smell of the ring, the sweat running down his spine, the coldness running through his veins instead of blood as he realized what he had done. He watched, the world reduced to flashes of camera light, the body of his opponent, lying dead in the ring even as the doctor rushed over to determine what Bog already knew with terrible certainty... 

Bog’s head was swimming, he could taste blood in his mouth...the moment when the doctor tossed the towel over the other man’s face...Dead. The flashes of cameras taking his picture, recording that moment...the moment in which Bog swore he could never raise his fists again...he would never fight again... 

Because he had killed a man. 

* 

Suddenly Bog’s eyes flew open and he leapt up to his knees, nearly knocking Marianne over where she had been crouching beside him, gently stroking his face. 

Reverend Playfair reached out to grab Bog’s arm. “Steady there…” 

Going still, Bog looked over at the Reverend. He could tell by the other man’s expression the Reverend might have some idea what had happened to Bog while he was out. Slowly, Bog rose to his feet, looking around in confusion. The room was dark and he could see out the window that the sun had gone down. The only people in the room were Marianne, the Reverend Playfair and Thaine, all of them looking at him as if they were expecting something. Bog didn’t know what they wanted from him. All he knew was that he was tired, sick and tired. 

He glanced over, and saw Marianne’s bridal bouquet on the floor. He reached down, picked it up and handed it back to her before he whispered, his voice filled with pain, confusion and anger. “Let’s go home.”


	6. A Good Stretch of the Legs

Marianne and Bog returned to his little cottage that night, a night that should have been their honeymoon, their first evening as husband and wife, but instead a heavy pall had settled over everything. Marianne said nothing to Bog, simply got the fire in the fireplace going, then took a seat in front of the fire to stare at the flames, still wearing her wedding dress. 

All the happiness of their day had passed away. 

Bog sat down in the chair next to her, both of them silent. 

This was not what he had wanted at all. Bog had wanted to marry Marianne, to bring her home and start a life, a real life with love, a family, in this little cottage in Ireland where he could put his past behind him and start fresh. A quiet, happy life, but Brutus Danaher had just shown Bog that a happy, quiet life wasn’t something he could have, probably wasn’t something he even deserved. A part of Bog that felt that he deserved to be unhappy. He loved boxing, loved the violence of it, loved the power in beating the tar out of someone else, knowing he was strong, that he could win. He’d gotten into boxing for two reasons--money and because Bog King was an angry young man for a variety of reasons. (A big reason for Bog’s anger was because life wasn’t fair, especially not for a tall, gangly young man of mixed Irish and Scottish background trying to make it in America.) Boxing had given him a focus for that anger, given him a release so that he didn’t end up in jail or worse. He found something cathartic in getting the shit beaten out of him every other night, or beating the daylights out of someone else that helped him continue to funnel that seemingly endless well of anger. 

And the money was good. 

But then that fateful night, that life-changing fight… 

To Bog, it felt as if a wide chasm had opened in his chest sucking his anger down into it, into that darkness. Killing a man in a fight that was for money and fun felt like a betrayal of everything his parents held taught him. He’d known in that instant that he’d let himself turn into a man that he wasn’t, a man that his parents would be ashamed of... 

That was when Bog had decided the best thing he could do would be to leave everything behind, to start again, a quiet life, a gentle life, he’d make amends for the life he had taken by creating something instead of destroying. 

But it was becoming clear to him that he couldn’t outrun his past. 

Glancing over at Marianne who sat staring into the fire in all her bridal beauty, her wedding bouquet resting on her lap, and tears slowly rolling down her cheeks, he didn’t know what to say or do to make anything better for her. He loved her, loved her with all his heart. He wanted nothing more than to give her the best of everything, but he had to wonder if he was the best man for her... 

“Ever since I was a little girl,” Marianne said softly, turning to look at her new husband as she spoke. “...I’ve dreamed of having my own things about me. My spinet over there…” She turned in her chair and pointed to a section of the room behind them. “...and a table here and…” Her voice broke with a combination of anger and pain. “...and my own chairs to rest upon and...” She sniffed and stood up, pulling her veil off her hair as she walked around the room slowly as Bog watched her. “...a dresser over there in that corner and my own china and pewter shining about me.” her chin trembled while she spoke. “I just...I dreamed one day of having my own home, my own things for my family, things I would leave my own daughter someday, the things that my mother left for me…” She turned to look at Bog, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Having those things would be like having my parents' blessing, like my own mother’s hug from the grave...They are a part of me…” The tears began to roll more freely down her cheeks, her voice trailing off, choked with emotion. “Th-they are the only things that were mine, that would be mine on the day I married, the day I would no longer be a servant to my brother and the Danaher land.” 

Bog’s voice was soft. “I didn’t know you felt that way about it, but it seems like a lot of fuss and grief over furniture and stuff…” The moment the words were out of his mouth Bog knew he had fucked up again. Marianne looked confused and insulted. For a moment she looked like she wanted to scream, but instead she simply turned and walked outside. 

Sighing, reaching up to rub the back of his neck Bog realized he probably didn’t understand. He’d left everything behind to come here and start over, arriving in Ireland with nothing but a sleeping bag and a single case holding all his belongings, or at least the belongings that meant enough to him for him to bring them across the ocean with him. Quickly he stood up and hurried outside after Marianne. 

He found her standing in the dark, looking back at the cottage. The glow from the fireplace made the diamond windows with their flower boxes look warm and inviting, a place one could come in and sit down for a good drink, a hot dinner, and a warm welcome. A home in which to raise a family. 

“It is a pretty cottage, isn’t it?” Marianne said softly. 

Bog wasn’t looking at the cottage, but at her when he replied. “I think so.” He reached for her, thinking maybe they could let the events of the last few hours go, but when he went to embrace her, Marianne turned away swiftly and hissed. “Don’t touch me--you have no right.” 

Her words struck him harder than any fist he had ever taken to the face. “What do you mean, no right?” he asked, his voice a low whisper of pain and confusion. 

Marianne turned on Bog while taking a step back from him, her brown eyes flashing with anger and maybe a little disgust. “I’ll wear your ring, I’ll cook, and I’ll wash, and I’ll keep the land, but that is all!” She took another handful of steps away from him. “Until I’ve got my dowry safe about me, I’m no married woman. I’m the servant I’ve always been without anything of my own!” 

“What?” The word came out soft and incredulous. He knew he was probably missing some cultural thing entirely, but this was just too much. “That’s ridiculous Marianne, you’re my wife and...” 

He tried to reach for her again, but Marianne avoided his touch. She went so far as to dash back into the cottage and bring the lower half of the dutch door closed with a slam between them. 

Bog looked hurt, confused, and a little angry. “I don’t understand…” 

“Haven't I been trying to tell you?” Marianne spat at him. Her heart was twisting with a dual pain. She didn’t want to say these things to Bog, she loved him, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. She was more than simply upset, she felt betrayed, by her brother, by Bog for not fighting her brother, and by her own pain. “Until you have my dowry, you haven’t got any bit of me!” She started to cry even as she raged. “None of me, myself! I’ll still be dreaming amongst the things that are my own! I’ll always be the spinsiter that the village has said I’d be! A servant to my brother with nothing of my own! As long as Brutus holds on to my dowry, he holds on to part of me!” Marianne’s voice broke, tears flowing unchecked. She didn’t know how else to explain the pain she felt, the fear that Bog was a coward, that he wasn’t his own man, and that she would always be seen as a spinster. And there was the fact that her brother would always hold something over her if he kept her dowry, that she and Bg would never be their own family, a husband and wife, hurt her in a way that she didn’t know how to express in words. 

Her pain was made all the more acute by the way Bog was looking at her, clearly not understanding. “It’ll be as if I had never met you.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and while Bog wanted desperately to reach out for her, to offer her comfort, he sensed that he shouldn't. Marianne opened her eyes again and said softly. “There’s 300 years of happy dreaming in those things of mine Bog and I want them. I want my dream Bog…” Her temper showed through even as she cried. “I'll have it and I know it!” She slammed her hand against the bottom half of the dutch door. “I’ll say no other word to you!” 

Bog, still not completely sure he understood, did understand that Marianne was serious, that those things meant more to her than anything else right now, but he said softly. “All right Marianne, you’ll have your things.” 

Marianne, her tone a mix of pain, anger and a little bit of fear that Bog wasn’t the man she thought him to be, hissed, “Well get it then.” 

With that she rushed off into the house. Bog hurried inside after her only to see her disappear into the bedroom and slam the door shut. She made the entire cottage shake followed by the unmistakable sound of her throwing the bolt closed against him. That was the final straw. Bog’s own vicious temper, the temper that had seen him through dozens upon dozens of fights, took over and before he thought better of himself, Bog stomped over to the bedroom door and with one swift kick, knocked it inward. 

Marianne gasped in shock and rushed to the other side of the room after throwing her bouquet at him, the flowers bouncing off his chest to the floor where he walked across them, crushing them. She wasn’t scared of him, but she didn’t trust herself not to throw a punch even as Bog stalked across the room toward her. She raised her hand to strike him, but Bog caught her arm by the wrist and held her arm around behind her back. 

His voice shook with his own pain, anger, and passion, because no matter how angry she made him, he loved her. “There’ll be no doors or bolts between us Marianne, except those in your heart…” Then he kissed her. 

Marianne melted at the touch of his lips, her own heart a twisted confusion of love, anger, and despair, but before she could form a response, Bog let her go. He stomped over to the bed and yanked the covers back making Marianne wonder if he was going to force himself on her. He stomped back to her and grabbed her, lifting her off her feet. She didn’t protest, wasn’t sure what she wanted. Part of her wanted Bog to ravish her while the other part wanted to punch him in the face, but just as she was trying to decide her reaction, Bog unceremoniously dumped her onto the bed (the frame underneath breaking with her impact causing her to slide to one side), turned around, and walked out of the bedroom. He grabbed the door and slammed it shut behind him with enough force that he knocked several pictures off the walls. 

Looking completely shocked for a moment, Marianne stared at the door through which her new husband had left. She waited, expecting him to return but after a few seconds she knew he wasn't coming back. 

Marianne broke down, burying her face in the pillows, and cried herself to sleep. 

* 

The next morning Marianne came out of the bedroom, brushing her hair, dressed for the day in a dark blue dress, white blouse, and apron. Her eyes were puffy and sore from crying and her stomach was in a twist of knots that threatened to rise up and choke her, but as she walked into the room she heard the sound of men laughing outside. 

Hurrying over to the door, Marianne pulled it open. She didn’t notice her husband on the floor, in his nightclothes, his legs still in his sleeping bag, smoking a cigarette, and watching her. She turned around her eyes wide, saw Bog, but immediately started to run around the main room trying to put everything in order. 

“Bog…” She began, but Bog only smiled at her gently. 

“How’d you sleep?” 

“Don’t be shaming me, please, not in front of your friends.” Marianne felt desperate. Outside their cottage, several men from the wedding party were laughing, having been drinking in celebration of their wedding already--or having never stopped from the reception last night--but they were slowly walking toward the cottage, a wagon loaded down with Marianne’s dowry in tow, surprisingly led by Packy, along with several male guests from yesterday's wedding. 

“What?” Bog was confused by her request, but when Marianne gave him a pleading look Bog smiled. Despite his anger at her the night before, he couldn’t deny her anything she wanted and he’d never shame her, not ever. “All right.” He smiled and got to his feet, moving quickly so that when their inebriated friends arrived they would see no evidence that Bog had slept on the cold floor alone last night. 

* 

Outside the drunken singing that had begun a few moments ago grew louder as the group came to a stop in front of the King cottage. They pulled the cart up to the front of the King cottage, Sunny, Thaine, Owen, Packy, and Dermont, all of them three sheets to the wind. 

Sunny and Owen pulled a chair down from the cart of furniture before the two men reached up and pulled down a particularly drunken Thaine and set him on the chair they had just unloaded before Sunny wobbled to the front of the cottage and yelled out. “Hello the house!! Anyone up?” 

* 

Marianne, who had been hastily stoking up the fire and setting a kettle over the fire to boil for tea, spun toward the shout just as her front door opened and Owen and Sunny wobbled inside. 

Both men held cups and Owen carried a nearly empty bottle of whisky. 

In unison both men smiled and waved. “Good morning!” 

Bog came out of the bedroom, finishing buttoning up a dark blue shirt that he had flung on, as well as some simple grey slacks. Marianne turned at the sound of Bog entering the room and her eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of his bare chest before he hastily finished buttoning his shirt and tucked it into his pants. She felt the heat on her cheeks, quickly looked around, and nervously rubbed her hands on her apron as Bog said with a smile, “Good morning.” 

Sunny and Owen both gave knowing smiles at Bog as he hastily finished dressing, too drunk to be ashamed of themselves though the tips of Sunny’s ears turned a bright red. 

Owen snickered, putting an unsteady arm around Sunny’s shoulders. “I suppose it is a bit early to be calling, ain’t it Sunny?” He leaned heavily into the shorter man who giggled. “Aye, it is.” 

Sunny held his cup out to Owen who started to fill it as he spoke. “Well, after you left last night Marianne, a couple of us persuaded yer brother to change his mind.” 

Owen took a sip from the bottle before he added with a snicker. “It’s what might be called a sort of belated wedding present.” 

Bog watched Marianne as she slowly walked over to look out the open door behind the two drunk men, her eyes wide with both astonishment and pleasure, her voice quiet as she said a little breathless. “My things…” Then, as the realization of what was out there hit her, Marianne exclaimed, “My furniture!!” She glanced at Bog before dashing out of the door. 

Bog was smiling, despite their fight last night; seeing her happy made his heart sing. That was all he wanted in the world, to see Marianne happy. He walked closer to look out the door at his new wife while Sunny whispered loudly. 

“Oh we’d have brought them over last night Bog, but…” Sunny giggled drunkenly. “...due to the circumstances, we thought you’d be needing your sleep.” Sunny and Owen both giggled exchanging over the top winks with each other, clearly thinking they were both being slick. 

Bog wrinkled his nose at them and was about to say something in response when Marianne came rushing back through the door. Following behind her were Packy and Dermont carrying a beautiful spinet piano. 

“All right easy,” Marianne instructed as the two men carried in the heavy furniture with Packy adding drunkenly. “God please everyone here…” 

“That’s right, careful…” Marianne motioned for them to ease into the room then pointed to where she wanted the small piano placed. “Right there by the window…” 

While Marianne’s attention was on placing the spinet, Thaine wobbled in through the front door carrying a beautiful, dark wood baby cradle. 

“Where do you want this?” he asked, looking around the room his gaze a little bleary. 

Bog walked around the baby cradle, his blue eyes moving from the cradle to Marianne as he said softly. “Mighty handy.” 

Marianne, her cheeks turning red, whispered back. “It was my mother’s and my mother’s mother’s before…” She looked flustered. After last night, after sleeping alone on her wedding night...She rushed out the door on the last word, leaving all the men watching her as she dashed out, clearly embarrassed. 

Thaine frowned, then shrugged and turned back to Bog. “So, where you want it?” 

Bog, his hands on his hips, sighed. “Where do you suppose?” He wasn’t sure what his feelings about the entire innuendo about the crib as he followed Marianne outside. 

Thaine, Sunny, and Owen watched Bog head out after Marianne. Thaine shook his head, picking up the crib. “Youth is wasted on the young…” he muttered. 

* 

Bog saw Marianne outside on the cart. As he walked closer, she pulled a chair from the pile and without a word to him, handed the chair down to him. Bog didn’t say at word as he reached for the chair. 

Sunny had followed Bog out and called out to Marianne. “We’re sorry about the dowry Marianne, we couldn’t make him change his mind about it. Not even Father Lonergan could do it.” 

Bog glanced over at Sunny, realizing that Sunny must be talking about the gold coins as he muttered. “Well, let him keep it.” 

Marianne gasped turning to stare at Bog like he’d grown another head. “Let him keep my fortune??!!” 

Bog once more looked confused. “Sure, you’ve got your tables and chairs about you, what do we care about his money?” Bog really didn’t see a problem. 

Marianne looked flabbergasted that Bog could even think such a thing. “What do we care about his money?” she repeated. “It’s my money!!” 

Bog had grabbed a large wooden chest off the cart, one that should have taken two men to lift, but he easily transferred the chest onto his back, holding onto it with one hand over his shoulder. 

“Let him have it if it means that much to him,” Bog muttered as he walked into the house with the chest. 

Marianne hopped down from the cart only to sit on the edge and glared at his back as if Bog was insane. She looked over at Sunny who came to lean against the cart beside her and muttered. 

“What manner of man is it that I’ve married?” she asked with genuine confusion. 

Sunny, despite still being rather drunk, shook his head at the newest member of his family. 

“A better one I think than you know Marianne.” 

* 

Inside the cottage, Thaine had slowly and unsteadily made his way to the bedroom with the cradle in his hands. He had just set the crib down when he saw the state of the bed, broken and leaning heavily to the left. His eyebrows climbed high on his head and he blinked several times as he examined the bed. “Impetuous, homeric…” He continued to stare at the broken bed for a few moments before he chuckled and shook his head, muttering. “Wait til I tell Steffie...might want to see if we can outdo that.” He chuckled as he wandered back out of the room to finish helping with the unloading. 

* 

A few days later, all of Marianne’s things were set up just the way she liked them around the house. She sat at her spinet playing softly and singing to herself an old song that her mother had loved. As she sang, she looked up, her eyes wandering about the room, taking in the furniture, her pewter, her silverware, lace, all of the things she had spent years dreaming among, dreaming of a home of her own, a tall, dashing husband at her side...and children... 

They were simple things that she wanted, a life and a home of her own, things that she had given up the notion of having the older she grew, and especially after Roland, but now... 

Marianne stopped playing, her brown eyes dancing with pleasure as she stood up and admired the room. She walked about, began to move things, adjusting the place of a candlestick, dusting off an imagined bit of dust from her table; everything was perfect. 

Happiness welled up in her, making her chest ache with it. Smiling, Marianne hurried out the door and across the front field to where she could see Bog digging rocks out of the ground nearby in a small patch of land surrounded by a moss and grass over half a stone fence. He had his hat on his head, wore a grey vest that matched his slacks, the sleeves of his blue work shirt rolled up to his elbows, and a cigarette held between his teeth. A twig basket rested at his side where he was dropping the rocks he dug up. As she came closer she could see at least a dozen rose bushes, bundled up and waiting to be planted. 

Dashing across the bright green grass, she came to stop as Bog pulled up yet another rock. He saw her and walked over with the rock in one hand, shovel in the other, and his cigarette between his lips, to lean against the ancient stone wall he was digging by and leaned against it. Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he glared down at the rock and muttered without looking at Marianne. 

“Now I see why you have so many damn rock walls in this country.” He tossed the rock away from the patch of ground he’d been digging in. 

Marianne frowned at him, her gaze moving from the roses waiting to be planted to Bog as he casually smoked his cigarette, leaning on the wall and his shovel at the same time. 

“Are you planting roses?” she asked, clearly disbelieving that he was putting so much work into some flowers. 

Bog slowly blew a line of smoke from between his lips as he looked over at her and stated simply, ”Yeah.” 

Wrinkling her nose, Marianne shook her head. “Fine farmer you are--not a turnip, cabbage or potato on the place.” 

“And no promise of children,” Bog stated softly, the hurt clear in his tone and gaze. 

They had yet to consummate their marriage even after Marianne had received her furniture. The lack of her fortune still hung between them. Marianne looked struck by his comment and Bog added with a sigh, putting his cigarette out against the stone wall. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.” 

Marianne sat down beside him on the wall, looking down at the roses waiting to begin their new life in the soil of their home. Instead of addressing what Bog had said, she replied. “Well, I suppose they will make a very fine display around the cottage.” 

She glanced over at Bog who had reached over and plucked a small yellow flower from the grass. She watched him as she said softly, “It is a pretty cottage, isn’t it?” 

Bog nodded, his tone soft. “I think so.” 

Staring at him, Marianne took the flower, held it to her chest, her eyes wide, but she quickly looked around and switched her position, putting her legs over the side of the wall closer to Bog, finding security in changing the topic. 

“Well, let’s see now.” She looked out over the rest of the land that Bog owned. “We’ll need a plow, a cultivator, and some seeds for planting.” Bog grinned at her while she spoke. Her face had lit up, he saw. She looked gorgeous, the sun bringing out the auburn highlights in her brown hair, her eyes animated, her smile infectious. The love he felt for her swelled in his chest as he hung on every word she said. 

“About the house for the plowing, we could sell that black hunter of yours…” 

Bog grinned at her and shook his head. “Nah, I’ll just buy another horse for the plowing, but why not a tractor?” He was genuinely curious, but he also just wanted to keep her talking. This was the Marianne he’d married, the one he loved, but if he was honest with himself, the woman he'd been fighting with was the woman he’d married too. As he thought about it, he realized even as she drove him crazy with her stubbornness and temper, he wouldn’t want her any other way, because that woman, a woman with that stubborn streak and temper that could put the devil to shame, wouldn't be Marianne. 

He loved Marianne Danaher...he loved Marianne King with all his heart, temper and all. 

Wrinkling her nose at him Marianne smiled. “A tractor? Nasty, smelly things, and besides, they’re an awful price Bog.” 

When she said his name, Bog felt a rush of love for her as she continued to plead her case for a plough horse. “With a horse, you get other advantages.” 

Bog grinned at her, a light chuckle in his voice. “Yeah, for the roses.” He pointed at the unplanted roses with a smile. 

Smiling Marianne chuckled looking down at her hands where she held the delicate little wildflower that Bog had given her. “Roses again, you...” She stopped mid-sentence to see that Bog was gazing at her with such love in his eyes that his expression took her breath away. She had to take a few moments to swallow, adjusting her sitting position on the stone wall as heat raced through her body at the sight of Bog’s eyes, the slight curve of his lips. 

“We...we could do our shopping in Castletown. If we put a good foot under us, we could be there and back by supper time…” she said softly, even a little shyly as she glanced over at Bog. 

Bog grinned, lifting a brow at her. “Five miles?” 

Marianne chuckled. “That’s just a…” 

Bog finished for her with good humor. “...a good stretch of the legs.” 

They gazed at each other, and the love between them was almost a physical presence, the ties of love stretched between them, unbreakable. 

“All right,” Bog said with a smile. “Get on your walking shoes.” 

Marianne grinned at him, hopping down from the wall before turning to climb back up and over the little wall. “I'll be just a minute,” she said softly, but with an eagerness in her tone, before climbing up the short stone wall. The moment she was standing again, Bog reached out and smacked her on the rear. 

Letting out a surprised yelp, Marianne stumbled a couple of steps before she turned to look at him only to see her husband grinning at her. Marianne couldn’t help the laugh of delight that bubbled from her lips as happiness spread through her like a warm drink. She giggled, running toward the cottage, looking over her shoulder a few times to smile at her husband before she hurried inside. 

* 

A few minutes later Marianne was ready to go for a walk to Castletown. Her heart was thumping hard and her eyes were bright with the anticipation of walking out with her new husband, even if the last few days have been rocky and they weren’t exactly husband and wife in every sense of the word--at least not yet. 

She put on one of her best going-out outfits; a long black skirt, crisp white blouse, her hair pinned back at the nape of her neck with a lavender ribbon in her hair, and a matching Irish beret with a pom pom on top. She had just reached for her light grey tweed jacket, the little yellow flower that Bog had given her pinned to her lapel, when she heard the honk of a horn outside. Frowning with curiosity, Marianne headed out the door only to see Bog, looking handsome, tall and dashing, a smile on his sharp face, waiting for her in a horse drawn car, a horn attached to the side. 

When she came out, Bog’s blue eyes sparkled. “Not a woman to be honked at, eh?” He lifted a dark brow at her with amusement. 

Ignoring his playful jab, Marianne’s mouth dropped open as she took in the carriage that Bog was sitting in and grinning at her. The carriage, called a marriage carriage, was shiny black, gleaming and lovely in the sunlight. A beautiful brown horse stood at the front, calmly waiting for her to climb aboard. 

Her voice was soft with awe. “Oh Bog, it’s beautiful! Did you ever see such a…” She looked over at him where he sat in the carriage, grinning at her like a cat who’d gotten the canary. “...it looks like it could fly!” 

Bog chuckled as he motioned her over. “It’s only one horsepower, but it's all yours.” The affection for her was clear in his voice. 

“All mine?” she asked with confused delight. 

Bog nodded. “Sure thing, think you can drive it?” 

Laughing Marianne rushed around to get in. “Hold on to your hat!” 

She sat down beside Bog who handed the reins to her and they took off a heartbeat later, the horse going at a steady gait with Bog playfully honking the horn he’d attached to the carriage. Marianne glanced over at him, a bright smile on her face. Bog winked at her and honked the horn again as they rode through the countryside heading for the bigger village of Castletown. 

* 

Marianne steered the horse past some cattle that were being driven through town, carefully turning the carriage when she went still; her eyes widened a fraction. Across the herd of cattle Marianne saw her brother standing in front of P. Curran’s pub and tobacco shop, dressed in his best suit. He was speaking to a group of men around him, laughing about something. 

The rage that Marianne felt at the sight of her brother created a bitter taste in her mouth. As she watched Brutus, he was spitting into his hand and shaking with the other men, clearly making some deal or other, all of them holding pints of Guinness. She heard her brother, his booming voice easily carrying over the sounds of the cattle moving past. 

“Now then, let’s have another pint, and I’m buying this one!” His tone sounded jolly. 

* 

Marianne tugged on Bog’s sleeve, drawing his attention to her brother. “Look, he’s sold the crossbreds.” 

Frowning, having no idea what Marianne was talking about, Bog murmured. “What?” 

“The sheep he’s been planning on,” she added. 

“Oh.” Bog did not sound impressed. 

“Hurry, now's a good time to ask him.” Marianne lightly gave Bog a shove in the shoulder. 

Bog frowned at her. “Ask him what?” 

“About my money.” Marianne sighed, looking more than a little annoyed with him. “He can’t say that he hasn’t got it with him now.” 

Bog sighed. He had thought that maybe they were starting to work past this fortune business, but clearly they hadn’t. He just couldn’t figure out why it was such an sticking point for Marianne. He had more than enough money to take care of the both of them and for any children they might have. He’d saved all his winnings from when he was a boxer and he’d never spent much on himself until he moved here to buy the home in which he had been born. They didn’t need her fortune, but Marianne just wasn’t willing to let it go. He kept his tone even though his temper was beginning to tickle the edges of his words. 

“Can’t you get it through your head? I didn’t marry you for your fortune Marianne. I married you because I love you, because I want you to be my wife and for us to have children and make a life together farming the land. I don’t give a fuck about the money--I never did.” His blue eyes were bright as he tried to convey to her how much he loved her, how much the money didn’t matter. 

Marianne didn’t bat an eye at Bog’s cursing, her own anger starting to boil over, and while she loved him, this issue wasn’t something she felt she could simply let go. “But he does, and that’s the whole point of it.” She pressed her lips together, glaring back at Bog, trying to make him understand something that any Irishmen would have understood completely. It was, she knew and wished Bog could understand, a point of honor. “Now, will you go ask him?” 

Bog shook his head as he started to get out of the carriage. “No,” he said plainly, his tone one of exhaustion. “Why shame ourselves?” he added as he stepped out of the carriage. 

“Shame?” Marianne gasped, then growled just a little as Bog came around the side of the carriage. “The shame’s on you, not on me.” She didn’t know how else to explain to Bog the importance of the money to her, and how if she didn’t get her full fortune, that it might affect Dawn getting married as well. Brutus was a good man, he really was, but he was stubborn, as stubborn as any Danaher had ever been. That money was not just a way of keeping a hold of Marianne, it was also her brother’s way of making a dig at Bog. Plus, if Brutus didn’t have to part with her fortune, who was to say he’d be willing to part with Dawn’s fortune when it came time for her to marry? Especially if he decided he didn’t like Sunny (though Marianne doubted he would ever dislike Sunny the way he disliked Bog. Bog had taken the land from him and in her brother’s eyes, Bog had ruined his chances with the widow. Bog was probably at the top of her brother’s list.) Brutus holding on to her money would also be her brother’s way of putting a black mark on Bog. The village would see him as a coward, would see that Brutus Danaher had not only dumped his eldest sister on him, but he’d done it without giving up a single coin! 

Her dowry was part of her honor! Even worse, she realized, it was a stain upon Bog’s honor, even if he was too thick headed to understand it. 

But then she added something that she almost regretted the moment the words were out of her mouth. “On me too if I’ve married a coward!” 

Bog, who had walked around the carriage to stand beside her where she sat inside it, turned to look at her, his expression hurt and angry. Granted, Marianne knew nothing about his boxing career, or the man he had killed. She knew nothing about the pain he carried with him or how that death had changed the way he looked at life, how it had changed what he wanted out of life. But most importantly, he was afraid of getting into another fight. The thought that he might accidently kill a man with his fists again sat in his stomach like a stone. 

He wanted to tell her, but the words were stuck in his throat. Still, the pain of her words jabbed like a knife in his heart. 

“Is that what you think of me?” he asked her softly, the hurt plain in his eyes and voice. 

Marianne spoke before she thought twice about it, her anger at her brother, anger at not having everything she was supposed to have, anger at the insult from her brother and her fear that maybe Bog wasn’t the man she thought he was, made her snap before she thought better of it. 

“Well, what else if you let him rob you out of my money?” 

Almost immediately she regretted her words. She could see that she had cut Bog deeper this time, deep enough that she’d have drawn blood if her words had been a knife, but it was too late, they were out in the daylight, and she couldn’t take them back. 

Bog snapped, his own anger flaring up. “Money, I’m sick of the talk of it! Is that all your Danahers think about? Money?” 

Marianne glared at Bog. Her temper had control and there was no getting it back. She reached behind her to grab the horse whip and for a split second Marianne held the whip up as if she might strike him. For a moment Bog thought she might strike him too. Neither of them moved for that moment, glaring at each other, their tempers of equal heat. 

Grinding her jaw, Marianne turned and snapped the whip angrily above the horse, pulling away and leaving Bog behind as she headed home. 

He watched her go, his heart heavy and his mind burning. He knew he should tell her why he didn’t want to fight, that a fear, white and cold settled in his stomach, fear that he could accidentally take another life, but it was so hard for him to talk about. He hadn’t told anyone how he had felt afterwards, he’d spoken to no one after the incident, and now finding the words to explain what had happened just wouldn’t come to him. 

Instead he began to walk. 

The long walk home might do him some good, but he doubted it.


	7. Her Fortune

Tears streamed down Marianne’s face as she drove the carriage home, her thoughts and heart in turmoil. She feared that her new husband was a coward, that he would always be taking a step away from a fight their entire lives, and that they'd always been living in the shadow of her brother. And worse still, the entire village, and the village beyond that and the village beyond that, would know that Marianne Danaher had married a coward. 

Her heart ached as she rode home, but just as she came over a hill, she caught sight of Father Lonergan, noticeable in his black suit with his collar of office and his hat, standing on the bank of the river as he threw out his fishing line. Marianne needed someone to talk to and there was no one better for that than Father Lonergan. 

She pulled the horse off the path and hopped out, making sure to wipe her tears, though her eyes immediately filled again. 

She approached slowly, carefully, since the Father was in the middle of fishing. Marianne knew there was nothing more sinful in Innisfree than ruining a man’s fishing, but she needed to speak with him. Stopping behind a tree, Marianne waited for the right moment, but as she watched the clergyman, she quickly realized there wasn’t going to be a ‘right’ moment because he was carefully moving his rod around and pulling in the line. 

Hurrying from behind the tree Marianne started to say, “Father…” 

“Quiet!” Lonergan hissed at Marianne, his eyes on the water. “See him out there behind that rock? He’s the king of all salmon. I’ve been counting the days until I could get ahold of that beast and there he is…” Father Lonergan grinned with anticipation. 

Marianne, her voice pleading, spoke quietly, but with intensity in her tone, “I’ve got to talk to you Father...please.” 

“He’s winking at me…” Father Lonergan narrowed his eyes at the fish. “I’ve been trying to get that little…” He stopped himself from saying a word that would require him to ask for forgiveness and instead muttered, his eyes glued to his line, “...I’ve been after him for ten years now.” 

“But Father! I need to talk to you! It’s important--it’s about my husband and myself!” Marianne started to cry again. She felt her temper rising, not at the Father, but at herself. 

Father Lonergan winced, as if he’d been punched, because helping a married couple was part of his duties; at the same time, however, he was so close to getting that elusive salmon. 

Sighing, Lonergan looked sideways at Marianne while continuing to move his line slightly. Maybe he could do both. “Fine, what is it?” 

“Father...I…” Marianne broke down into a sob, the words sticking in her throat. “Father, could I tell you in the Irish?” The words wouldn’t hurt less, but they would come to her easier than in English. 

Lonergan sighed and nodded. “Sure, sure…” 

Marianne took a breath, then said quickly, “Níor lig mé mo fhear céile isteach i mo leaba liom aréir. Chuir mé faoi ndearadh dó codladh i - Ó, i mála codlata! Mála codlata!” (“I didn’t allow my husband into bed with me last night. I forced him to sleep in - oh, in a bag for sleeping! a bag for sleeping.”) She sniffed loudly, shame making her cheeks turn red. 

Lonergan turned to look fully at Marianne, his mouth open in shock before he replied. “Mála c--? Céard é sin? ‘Bag’” (“Bag --? What’s that? ‘Bag?’) 

Marianne gestured down her body. “A sleeping bag Father, with, with buttons…” 

Lonergan was shocked speechless while Marianne continued. “Ó, mo spré, ní throid sé ar a shon. An peaca é?” (“My dowry, he didn’t fight for it. Is it a sin?”) Even as she said the words 

Marianne felt a stab in her heart, as if she was betraying her husband, and maybe she was. Maybe she was so caught up in having what was hers, those material things, that she wasn’t thinking clearly. And maybe she didn’t quite understand everything about her new American husband. What if she was completely wrong about him? 

Lonergan frowned with disappointment at Marianne, shaking his head as he hissed at her. “Marianne Danaher, Ireland may be a poor country, God help us. But here, a married man sleeps in a bed, and not a bag!” The Father found himself getting angry; he’d had it up to here with Danahers and their stubborn tempers. “And for your own good, I’ll tell you a thing…” But before Lonergan could finish his lecture the salmon that he’d been hunting for the last ten years decided to bite. 

His fishing pole was nearly yanked from his hands, but he grabbed it tight in a grip only God would be able to break. He yelled at the top of his lungs. “THERE HE IS!! THERE HE IS!!” 

Marianne gasped and yelled, her attention on the elusive salmon. “Stick him now Father!!!” 

Father Lonergan struggled with the line, the fish fighting for all it was worth while Marianne yelled instructions and encouragement and Father Lonergan yelled about the fish. “That’s the one!! I’ve been waiting for ten long years!!” 

Marianne ran along the riverbank, keeping her eyes on the fish. “Keep his head up!!” she yelled. “Keep his head up!! Father!! Get a tight line!” 

Father Lonergan wadded into the water of the river while he fought with the fish. “I’ve got you!! I’VE GOT YOU!!” as if yelling his intent would improve his chances of pulling the fish in. Lonergan wandered so far into the water while he fought with the fish, he was up to his waist, continuing to yell. “Oh, a tight line it is!!” The fish was a strong one he thought with glee. 

Marianne stood on the bank continuing to yell her encouragement and instruction; everyone in Innisfree knew the value of fishing and catching a good size salmon. 

Lonergan didn’t look back at her while he floundered in the water, fighting with the fishing line. “His head is up!! Will you get the gaff!!” 

Marianne raced back over to where the Father had been fishing to find the gaff, a long stick with a hook on it for landing large fish like this salmon. The Father’s dog started to bark excitedly, getting caught up in all the yelling and clear excitement going on with the fish. Grabbing the gaff, Marianne raced back to help the Father who was continuing to yell about the ten years he’d been trying to get his one particular fish. 

Marianne raced down to the very edge of the water with the gaff in hand and yelled, “Oh you got him, you got him Father!!” While the Father struggled with the fish, she gasped. “Keep his head up you fool!!” Her eyes widened at her own words. Had she just called Father Lonergan a fool? 

Father Lonergan had been dragged to the middle of the river in his struggle, his head going under and popping back up as he fought to hold onto the fishing pole and his hat at the same time as he continued to yell at Marianne to get the gaff until finally, after losing his footing and going under the water, the Father stood, holding his pole up. The fish was gone. 

Lonergan yelled at the pole, shaking it in frustration, soaked through to the skin in river water. “God help us!!” 

Marianne gasped in shock at the Father’s anger. “Oh...uh…” She quickly dropped the gaff and dashed for her carriage as the angry Father threw down his fishing pole. “Sleeping bags is it?!” 

Between the loss of his fish and Marianne Danaher’s stubbornness--all of the Danahers stubbornness--he’d had quite enough. He watched from the water as Marianne drove away shaking his head and muttering again as he began to drag himself from the river. “God help us.” 

* 

Bog continued to stomp his way across the landscape on his way home, smoking angrily at the cigarette in his mouth while picking up and throwing one of the thousand or more rocks he found on his way home. Why did this country have so many damn stones?! He asked himself quietly, throwing yet another against one of the hundreds of stone walls he came across as he stalked across the landscape like an angry bull. 

He stopped at the latest stone wall, putting the remains of his cigarette out a moment before he pulled out another. He struck his match against the stone, lit the new cigarette, and glared at nothing in particular. He felt angry--angry at Marianne, at Brutus, and at himself, though he supposed he wasn’t really all that angry with Marianne. She didn’t know about his boxing past and he supposed that, in her eyes, he did look like a coward. 

But damn it, she should trust him! 

And maybe, he realized, he should trust her... 

The pain in his heart felt like a knife, a knife buried deep and twisted. He loved Marianne with every ounce of his being, he wanted her to be proud of him, wanted her to not be ashamed, but the thought--the fear--that he could take her brother’s life if they got into a fight left his blood moving like ice through his veins. 

But he still felt angry, angrier than he’d ever been as he stood up and began his stomp across the countryside. 

He had no idea how he was going to solve this issue, no idea at all. 

* 

At the local pub, Thaine, along with several other locals, were all having a bit of a late afternoon drink while singing softly together, a song they all knew by heart, a song that brought tears to Thaine’s eyes. The song was called Galway Bay and was about leaving Ireland for America, but how the singer longed to return home, to the beauty and peace of the Ireland they left behind in their youth, an idealized version of the homeland. Thaine sniffed as he took a deep drink of his ale. The song made him think of Bog King, returning home after all these years. He smiled as he sang along with the other pub patrons. He liked the boy a great deal and hoped that he and Marianne would be happy now that Marianne had her furniture, even if her brother was being an eejit about the gold Marianne owned as part of her fortune. He hated to see how Brutus would behave when his baby sister and her man finally got up the courage to confront him about getting married. Thaine’s eyes wandered over to Sunny. The poor young man was sitting on the far side of the pub, away from Brutus, nursing his drink. The poor boy had a lot on his shoulders; loving a Danaher girl wasn’t an easy thing. 

Speaking of the eejit, Thaine glanced over to where Brutus was drinking, with Packy at his side, at the far corner of the bar. 

The man himself was here celebrating the sale of his sheep. He’d bought a round for everyone, which they, including Thaine himself, were grateful for (Thaine never turned down a free drink), but Thaine couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed with the man, despite the free ale in his hand. 

Suddenly, as if summoned by Thaine’s thoughts, the door to the pub opened and then slammed shut, causing everyone to stop singing and turn toward the sound. Thaine’s eyes widened. 

Standing just inside the pub was Bog King, looking madder than Thaine had ever seen any man in his life. 

Thaine smiled, holding up his drink. “Ah Bog, you’re just in time to stand me a drink!” 

Owen, who stood on Thaine’s left, smiled. “Join us Bog!” 

Dermont was on Thaine’s other side smiling. “Yes, have a drink Bog!” 

Bog’s eyes scanned the pub, his hard, blue eyes landing on Brutus as the tall man growled, 

“No thanks.” 

Everyone in the pub watched as Bog stalked over to Brutus and Packy. Sunny stood up, his eyes wide with a mix of keen interest and fear. 

Bog stopped by Brutus. When he spoke, his tone was flat, but the anger was clear underneath the words. “I want to talk to you in private.” 

Brutus ignored Bog for a few seconds, taking a long, slow sip of his ale before he set it down on the counter and finally turned to Bog. “If there’s anything you got to say to me, say it here,” he said with a growl of his own. 

Bog struggled to maintain his calm as he stated plainly. “I’d rather talk to you in private.” 

Brutus growled, his cheeks red from maybe a little too much drink and his own quick temper rushing up to a boil. “What’s the matter? You’re among friends.” He gestured at everyone in the pub. 

“They fought for you once, didn’t they?” It was clear by Brutus’s rising temper he was referring to the wedding and the furniture, the part of his sister’s dowry that nearly everyone in the pub had convinced him to let Bog have. (He was too angry to consider that it wasn’t Bog’s furniture but his sisters things that she was owed.) 

“Maybe they’ll fight for you again,” Brutus hissed with derision. He thought the same as his sister, that Bog was too much of a coward to fight. 

Bog growled back, his blue eyes narrowed. “I’m not asking anybody to do my fighting for me.” 

“Oh, are you willing to do your own now, are ye?” Brutus laughed derisively. He didn’t believe that Bog would fight for anything. 

Bog didn’t move, and neither did his tone didn’t change. “You know what I'm here for.” 

“Oh I do.” Brutus laughed thinking he had a chance to humiliate Bog as he smirked. “I just want to hear you ask for it. Ask for it yank.” He goaded the younger man, wanting another chance to deck Bog King. “And you’ll be chewing your teeth for a week.” Brutus felt confident that he was the tougher of the two after having knocked Bog out cold at the man’s own wedding. 

Sunny balled his hands into fists, his own anger rising as he watched Brutus try to humiliate Bog, and saw his own chances of courting Dawn dwindling by the minute. After the wedding he and Dawn had decided not to say another word about them courting, Dawn felt terrified of what her brother might do. Sunny had agreed, but he felt sick to his stomach with all of this, and while he didn’t understand why Bog wasn’t willing to fight Brutus, he knew enough about Bog King to know there had to be a reason that had nothing to do with cowardice. 

Owen’s voice suddenly rang out clearly in the quiet pub, giving voice to what everyone in the room was thinking, a fight between the two wouldn’t be a fair fight even if Bog King was willing to fight. “You’ve got twenty pounds at least on him Danaher.” There was a general murmur of agreement through the pub. 

Brutus didn’t seem to care that he outweighed Bog and that the fight wouldn’t be fair. “So I have…” He shoved Packy out of the way and advanced on Bog, putting his fists up, but he was directing his snarl at Owen and the others in the pub who, by their expressions he saw, were siding with Owen. “How would it be if I put one of me fists in me pocket?” He sneered. “Right or left? Go on, right or left, you choose.” He held his fists out to Bog. “Go on now, choose…” 

He smirked at the other man. “Go on…” He chuckled. “That’s fair enough isn’t it?” 

Bog licked his lips as he struggled to hold onto his anger, but that sliver of cold, that doubt, that fear that he could kill Marianne’s brother, rose up and cooled his anger a bit. Bog slapped Brutus’s fists away before he turned to leave. 

Brutus started to laugh, a laugh that showed Brutus’s raw ridicule and dismissiveness of Bog King. “The Fighting King, eh?” He laughed loud and hard even as not a soul in the pub joined him. 

Thaine shook his head watching as Bog stormed out of the pub, the pain he felt for Bog evident in the older man’s expression. 

* 

The Reverend Playfair was at home in their living room, a warm fire dancing cheerfully in the fireplace as he sat at a game table playing a game of tiddlywinks with his wife. Someone had come to the door and while Mrs. Playfair had gone to check, the Reverend took the opportunity to flick one of his pieces into the cup in the middle of the table. His first try missed, so while she was still gone, he tried again. The second time he made the shot, the piece falling into the shot glass just as his wife came back into the room. 

“It was Mr. King dear, I brought him in,” she said with a smile as Bog King followed behind her. 

“Oh, bless my soul!” The Reverend stood and held his hand out to Bog. “A pleasure!” 

Mrs. Playfair looked down at the table. “Have you tiddled your last wink dear?” 

“I have,” he said with a grin, but his wife narrowed her eyes at him. “No cheating?” 

The Reverend Playfair looked insulted. “I have not!” 

It was clear from his wife’s expression that she knew, without evidence, that he had. Wrinkling his nose, the Reverend turned to Bog and asked with a quiet and inquisitive smile, “Do you play Tiddlywinks?” 

Bog looked confused, his fingers working at the brim of his hat he held in his hand. “No..I...” He frowned. “Maybe I shouldn’t have butted in like this. I’ll just...” He started to turn to leave, but Mrs. Playfair stopped him. “Nonsense. Now, how’s your lovely new bride?” she asked with a smile, but Bog’s expression fell instantly at the mention of his new wife even as he muttered, “Fine.” 

The older married couple exchanged a look; it was clear from Bog’s tone and expression everything wasn’t fine. 

Reverend Playfair smiled at his wife. “Dear, maybe there is something you need to take care of upstairs?” 

Nodding sagely, Mrs. Playfair knew that her husband would talk Mr. King through whatever difficulty he and his new bride were having. She smiled at her husband and turned to Bog as she held her hand out. “Well, I hope you have a good visit Mr. King.” 

Bog took her offered hand and shook it. “Thank you Mrs. Playfair.” 

She smiled at him, then turned to her husband. “We’ll finish our game later.” She walked up to her husband to kiss him on the cheek and whispered. “I know you cheated dear.” 

The Reverend blushed at his wife who winked at him before she left the room, closing the door behind her. 

The Reverend looked up at Bog with a questioning gaze. 

Bog started to pace around. “I need to talk to somebody or I’m gonna blow my top.” He sounded as if he said the words through a clenched jaw. 

“Danaher, of course.” The Reverend said this as a statement rather than a question to which Bog nodded. 

“Yeah.” 

Bog took a deep breath and looked over at the Reverend. “Since you know who I am, or was...Well...you know why I don’t want to fight him.” 

Playfair nodded. “Aye, I do. I was reading about it again last evening.” He walked over to where a large album sat on a table. He opened the book and began to turn the pages. Bog walked over to see that the large book was in fact a scrapbook that contained dozens upon dozens of newspaper clippings, each about a boxer or a boxing match. 

As a way of explanation Playfair said, “Some men collect butterflies or stamps, but my hobby has always been sports, sporting events, particularly boxing.” He flipped the page and stopped. The images on the pages were all of Bog King, training, in the ring, and dozens of articles about Bog’s fights. Reverend Playfair flipped through a few more pages and stopped, the headline cut from a newspaper read in big bold letters. “Trooper Bog King Quits the Ring: Light Heavyweight challenger hangs up gloves after fatal knockout, vows he will never fight again.” 

Bog stared down at the headline as Playfair said softly, “It’s a very understandable reaction, though the papers all say it was an accident, just one of those things...” 

Playfair could see the pain in Bog’s expression, the pain and hurt the man carried with him for taking the life of another person. When Bog spoke, his voice sounded thick with pain. 

“Maybe it's just one of those things in a scrapbook, but when you carry it around in here…” He laid his hand against his chest, his voice breaking when he spoke. Playfair could see the way the pain weighed Bog down, the guilt indelibly etched in the younger man’s eyes as he continued. Now that Bog had started he continued his confession. “Tony Gardello was a good man, he had a wife, a home, a couple of kids…” Bog turned, choking on his words and he started to pace again. “...clean fighter but I didn’t go in there to outbox him Reverend, I went in there to beat his brains out…” 

Bog’s voice became laced with anger, anger directed at himself. “I went in there to drive him into the canvas, to murder him…” Once more Bog’s voice broke as he turned to look at the Reverend, tears glistened in the corner of Bog’s eyes. “That’s what I did Reverend, I murdered him.” HIs voice had grown soft, broken with pain. “And for what, the purse? Money? A piece of the gate? Money...it was all about money...” Bog shook his head, sniffed and angrily wiped at the tears that had started to run down his cheeks with the heel of one hand. He turned away again, hating himself for showing his pain, but unable to stop himself. 

The Reverend’s tone was soft as he whispered, “And now money is behind your trouble with Danaher.” 

“They think I’m afraid to fight him, all the friends I’ve made here, even my wife.” Bog’s voice was quiet, but the anger that dwelled there sounded clear as a bell. 

“But aren’t you in a way?” the Reverend asked. 

Bog looked into the Reverend’s eyes as he asked bitterly. “Have you ever killed a man? With your bare hands?” When the Reverend didn’t answer, Bog hissed. “Well I have, and all Marianne’s talk about her big fortune...” He shook his head. “...it’s not that important.” 

Playfair sighed softly and said, “But Bog, it is to her.” 

He turned back to the scrapbook, idly flipping through the pages as he continued to speak. “It must be strange to you, from America, but it’s an old, old custom here, and believe me, it’s a good custom.” He turned to address Bog directly, but Bog was looking down at his hands that continued to worry at the brim of his hat. “That fortune means more to her than just money Bog.” 

“Not to me it isn’t. It's not worth fighting for.” Bog’s voice was a broken whisper. 

“But is your wife’s love worth fighting for?” Playfair asked. 

Bog shook his head. “I...I don’t know. All I do know is that I can’t fight, or won’t fight...not unless I’m mad enough to kill, and if that means losing her...” He walked over to the fireplace and sat down, as if all the strength had left his body, the threat of tears once more at the corner of his blue eyes as he shook his head. “I...I just don’t know.” 

He looked up when the Reverend walked over to him. “Maybe she doesn’t love me enough.” 

Playfair sat down across from Bog. “A difficult situation.” He smiled gently at Bog. “But I think you’ll find the right answer in God’s good time and when that time comes, I hope I’ll still be here.” 

Bog looked up startled. “You’re not figuring on leaving are you?” 

Playfair shrugged. “It’s a possibility, see, my bishop is coming tomorrow on his annual visit and I’ve got such a small congregation, just two, maybe three people at the service, he may transfer me.” The Reverend's tone suggested that he didn’t want to leave. 

Bog frowned. “The place wouldn’t be the same without you Padre.” 

Playfair smiled gently. “Thank you Bog. The wife and I just love this place. We were both born here too, you know.” He smiled at Bog before he shrugged. “Well, the bishop is a good egg, maybe it’ll be all right.” 

They were both quiet for a moment when Playfair leaned forward. “By the way, don’t underestimate Danaher. He may be clumsy and come off as a bit of a bullheaded ass, but he’s got a tremendous right and a jaw of granite.” 

Bog chuckled, but Playfair shrugged. “I did a little bit of boxing in my time.” 

The Reverend jumped up and hurried over to a bookshelf where he pulled something down from between the books. He walked back over to Bog who had stood up, calmer now, looking at the family photos that the Reverend had on the mantel. Bog saw images of the Reverend’s wedding, he and his wife so young and in love, along with photos of children. Bog could follow the images from babies to young adults. 

“Now, promise you won’t be laughing now…” Playfair came over and handed Bog a photo as the younger man turned to face him. 

Taking the photo, Bog looked down to see a much younger Playfair wearing a striped shirt and shorts, his hands clad in boxing gloves. “I was at Trinity,” Playfair pointed out. 

Bog read the words below the photo. “Lightweight champion, nineteen hundred and…” 

Playfair quickly spoke over Bog before he could read the year out loud. “Oh, the year doesn’t matter…” 

Bog chuckled glancing over the Reverend who supplied, “It was long, long ago.” Bog handed the picture back, then imitated the Reverend’s pose in the photo with a grin. Both men shared a laugh before Playfair asked, “By the way, would you join me in a glass of…” He stopped himself, turning around to Bog and said. “You’ll be in training now, of course.” 

Bog frowned. His expression looked both dark and confused to the Reverend. The man clearly didn’t know which way he wanted to go, fight Danaher or lose his wife, the death of the man from his past hanging between both decisions. 

Playfair stepped over and gripped Bog’s shoulder, the gesture affectionate, yet firm. “You’ll know the right thing to do,” Playfair assured him. 

Bog smiled, though it was clear he wasn’t sure he believed the Reverend. He gave the other man a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime,” Playfair said with a genuine smile. 

* 

When Bog returned home it was well into evening. 

Bog opened the door to his home slowly, not sure what he was expecting to find, but what he did find was Marianne, standing barefoot in front of the fireplace, gazing into the fire that crackled warmly. He watched her as he slipped his coat off, pulled off his hat, and dropped them both over the table near the door. He walked slowly over to her, stood next to her in front of the fire, though he didn’t touch her. 

She was beautiful, the fire’s light dancing in her brown eyes and picking out the red highlights in her hair. He found that the love he felt for her hurt, hurt more than any pain he’d ever felt before, more than even the death he carried with him. 

Marianne gazed back, becoming lost in Bog’s blue eyes. She could see the pain in his gaze and she felt the distance between them, but she loved him, loved him so much. But she knew there was something about Bog that she didn’t understand, something he carried that he was unwilling to share with her, and that hurt. 

They stared at each other for a long moment before Bog dropped his gaze and moved over to one of the chairs in front of the fire and sat, his shoulders sagging, a man lost, defeated, and in pain. 

Bog pulled a cigarette out from the pocket of his vest, the movement drawing Marianne’s attention. She quickly fetched a long match from those by the fireplace and lit it for him, hurrying over to hold the flame to his cigarette. He looked up at her confused and surprised by her, but leaned forward to let her light the end of his cigarette for him. 

After lighting the cigarette, Marianne asked, her tone neutral, “Did you have any supper?” 

Bog stared into the fire as he answered, smoking his cigarette. “Nope, I’m not hungry.” 

“The drink sometimes does that to a man.” There was a trace of bitterness and maybe accusation in her tone. 

“I haven’t had anything to drink,” Bog answered, still without looking at her. His own tone held only a mild bit of insult in it, as if her assumption was a slap to him. “If you want to know, I was talking to the vicar, Mr. Playfair.” Bog leaned back in his chair without looking at her. 

Marianne stared into the fire as well, not looking at Bog as she whispered, “That’s strange, I had a long talk with Father Lonergan.” 

She moved without looking at Bog, perching on the arm of Bog’s chair. He glanced up, his eyes on her back before he slowly reached over and put his arm around her waist, his hand gently against against her arm which was resting along her side, and very gently, giving her adequate time to move away, before he pulled her back against his shoulder. She smelled of sun and baked bread. The warmth of her body, the feel of her next to him awakened parts of him and caused the love that nestled in his heart to burn brighter. He loved her, no matter what happened. God help him, he loved her. 

Marianne let him guide her until she laid her head against him. She could smell his hair, his skin, sun and grass mixed with a scent that was uniquely Bog. A scent that made a stirring in her belly that burned and slowly moved through her blood, warming her all over. She loved him, loved him with every part of her being. Nothing could change that she realized. Neither of them said another word as Bog smoked his cigarette for a few moments before he tossed it into the fire and very gently wrapped his other arm around her. His long fingers lightly stroked the back of her hand that rested on her lap. After a few seconds, without looking at her, Bog lifted her arm and gently lifted it over his head and around his shoulders. 

Marianne turned and leaned against him, Bog’s cheek against her chest. He held her hand, his other arm around her, as they stared into the fire. 

Marianne leaned into him, fighting back tears, her love for him nearly overwhelming. A few seconds later he lifted her hand and kissed the inside of her palm and the tears ran warm down her cheeks. 

Marianne’s lips trembled, his kiss soft ad his lips warm. 

They stayed like that for several long minutes, just holding each other, not speaking a word until finally Marianne shifted, letting herself slide down from the arm of the chair and onto his lap. He adjusted his hold on her, his arm going gently around her waist, releasing his hold on her hand. Bog looked at her, his eyes bright, quizzical. She reached out and ran her fingers along his sharp jaw, gazed into his eyes, blue like a cloudless summer sky. She traced his sharp, firm jaw, then reached up to run her fingers along his sharply pointed nose before very lightly touching the sensual curve of his lips. Bog did nothing except remain still, let her touch his face while his arm remained around her waist, gentle but firm. They stared into each other's eyes, Bog waiting, letting Marianne take the lead. 

He would do nothing without her consent. 

Her smile was soft, sweet, laced with a mix of tenderness and hurt that was reflected in her brown eyes. She leaned down and brushed her mouth against his, her soft lips caressed slowly back and forth against his lips sending ripples of warmth and pleasure through his entire body. Bog opened his mouth slightly, his breath coming faster as his heart beat heavy against his breastbone, but he didn’t move while Marianne’s hand slid gently along his throat, her thumb caressing his cheek feeling the slight stubble there. Her eyes locked with his gaze until she slowly closed her eyes and guided him into a deep and tender kiss. 

His arm around her waist tightened, but he made no move other than following Marianne’s lead. Her tongue gently flicked into his mouth, drew out a moan from Bog, just a soft sound, barely audible, but it was enough. Marianne deepened the kiss, the moan he made fueling her own desires and needs. Her hand moved along behind him to grasp the hair at the back of Bog’s head, gently forcing his head back a little more as she gave into the passion that burned bright and hot in her belly. She moved off Bog’s lap only long enough to change her position, lifted her skirts and straddled him. She let everything fade away--her fear, her worry, her anger, her shame, and only focused on the love and the lust that were mixed tightly together and only for Bog King. No matter what happened tomorrow, tonight she was his wife and she would show him how much she loved him. 

Bog wrapped his arms around Marianne, pulled her close, his fingers spread wide to gently stroke up and down her back while they kissed. Her tongue was like honey, her lips a welcome burn across his mouth. He felt his desire course through his blood, pooling in his groin as he returned her kisses with the same fire-like passion that she was giving willingly to him. His mouth moved along her jaw, then down to her throat, his tongue snaking over his wife’s soft skin. He felt the rapid beat of her pulse against his lips and his hand slipped up her side, gently gliding over her breast. 

The feel of her breast, small but pert, soft in his hand, drew another moan from Bog’s lips. 

Marianne hissed with pleasure when his hand cupped her breast and their body heat burned through her clothing. She could feel a hint of his excitement between her legs that encouraged her to press down on him, thrust her hips against him as his body responded to hers. She ran her fingers through his thick black hair, kissed him a little harder, her passion building and simmering, threatening to burn out of the control. 

Her wedding night had been put off for too long, she realized with a moan of her own. 

Bog nibbled at her throat and his teeth brushed against her skin followed by a warm, wet tickle of his tongue that sent shivers down her spine. Marianne adjusted herself again, a gasp escaping her lips when she felt the tight, hard bulge between her legs. Slowly she ran her hands down his chest, her fingers finding the buttons of his vest that she began to unfasten slowly. Once she had his vest unbuttoned, and while Bog continued to kiss her throat or lick her ear, Marianne worked at the buttons of his shirt until she could run her fingers over his chest. 

The feel of his skin made the fire in her burn hotter. His skin felt soft and warm, and she wanted him so much. She tugged at his shirt, pulled it free of his pants and swiftly pulled open the rest of the buttons with a low, breathless moan. Marianne’s hands glided over his skin, feeling the way Bog jerked at her touch. 

He caught her mouth in a burning kiss, his tongue twisting, gliding, dancing with his wife’s. Her heart beat quickly, a warm tickle settling low as Bog began to undo the buttons of her blouse, pulled it free of her skirt until he could peel the cloth back over her shoulders. He lightly brushed the tips of his fingers along her collarbone, sending goosebumps dancing across her skin. His fingertips glided down along the tops of her breasts causing her nipples to tighten with want of his touch. 

“Bog,” she murmured against his lips. “Take me to our bed.” 

Bog pulled back to look into her eyes, a slight frown marring his brow. “Are you sure?” he asked and she loved him all the more for asking. 

“I am,” she whispered in a husky tone. “I’m sure M'fhear céile” 

Bog lifted a quizzical brow and Marianne smiled. “My husband.” 

That was all the encouragement Bog needed. He stood, lifting Marianne up with him into a bridal carry. Marianne wrapped her arms around him as he lifted her as they stared into each other's eyes. Without another word, Bog carried her into their bedroom. Once they were in the bedroom, Bog gently set Marianne on her feet. She walked backwards away from him, though her eyes never left his even as she reached back to undo her skirt and lett it fall to the floor. She reached up, slid her blouse down her arms until she stood only in her slip. 

Bog pulled his shirt off, let it fall to the floor, then slowly took off his shoes and his socks before he worked at the buckle of his slacks. Marianne watched intently while Bog slid his belt free, then worked the button and zipper of his slacks. He slid them down his legs, taking her breath away as he stood in his boxers, his excitement clear as day to her. She bit her bottom lip, but before an awkwardness could settle between them, they were again in each others arms. 

Bog’s kiss felt like a fire moving through her entire body, his arms wrapped tight around her, keeping her from falling apart. She held him to her, desperate for him, his mouth moving down from her lips to her throat as the room spun away, then suddenly Marianne was on her back in their bed, Bog over her, the weight of his body between her legs. 

She slid her hands down his sides while they kissed, feeling his lean muscles and soft skin. Her fingers slid under the band of his boxers and she slowly slipped them down his hips, her hands trembling ever so slightly. Bog sat back and she watched, mesmerized as he removed the last of his clothing, revealing himself completely to her. He was so beautiful that he took her breath away. Sitting back on his legs after moving away from her, Bog gently rolled Marianne’s slip up her thighs. She reached down to help him, taking the cloth and sitting up she pulled the slip up and over her head, followed by her bra and panties until she lay back naked before her husband. He was unable to move, simply drinking in the sight of Marianne, her smooth, silky skin, her small breasts, the gentle roll curve of her hips, the contours of her stomach and her thighs. She looked an equal mix of delicate womanhood and strength. He reached out slowly, his hand trembling as he touched her stomach. Her skin felt pleasantly warm, soft--the softest thing Bog had ever touched. 

Blushing ,Marianne reached for him. “Déan grá dom m’fhear céile,” she whispered and while Bog didn’t understand what she said, he understood her lips and her touch perfectly. 

That night they spent hours discovering the depths of their love for each other. 

* 

When morning came, Bog awoke with a smile. Marianne was already up, the bed empty, but he felt as if everything tasted sweeter. He dressed in his pajamas, not quite ready to leave the bed, but thinking perhaps he might convince his wife to return to it for a repeat of last night. So he pulled on his pajamas after finding them in a drawer, wrapped his bathrobe around himself, and found his cigarettes. He lit one up, took a deep, relaxing drag, and let the smoke out slowly, a smile on his face. 

When he walked out of the bedroom he was all smiles. He saw that Marianne had made a bouquet of wildflowers in a vase on the table. He walked over and leaned in, breathing in the flowers’ sweet scent, a scent that reminded him of Marianne’s skin last night. 

With a wide grin and a laugh in his voice Bog looked around and called out playfully. “Woman of the house, where’s my tea?” 

But there was no answer. 

Bog’s smile didn’t falter as he went to the front door and opened the upper half, leaning out to call. “Marianne?!” 

“Save your breath boy…” 

Bog turned to see Thaine sitting by the side of his door, and saw the little man looked grim. “Save your breath…” he repeated. “She’s gone from you, and small wonder.” 

Bog looked confused as he opened the lower half of the door and stepped out. “What are you talking about? Where is she?” 

Thaine sighed. “She came tapping at me door when the sun was up. ‘Will you drive me to the train?’ she asked.” 

Bog’s voice broke as he asked quietly. “Why?” 

“The very questions Steffie and me asked, ‘why?’” Thaine muttered. “Because I love him says she. I love him too much to go on living with a man I’m ashamed of.” Thaine repeated shaking his head with regret. “Steffie tried to reason with her, but she’d have none of it.” 

The heartbreak in Bog’s eyes hurt Thaine to see. “What time was this?” he asked, his voice devoid of all emotion. 

“Oh in time for the Dublin train,” Thaine replied watching Bog closely, his brow lifted as Bog glared off into the distance, his cigarette dangling between his fingers. He took a long, deep drag on it before he flicked it off onto the path, turned and growled. “Saddle my horse will ya please?” he asked before Bog disappeared into the cottage. 

Thaine grinned, muttering to himself. “Saddle his horse.” Then, loud enough for Bog to hear inside, he called out, “I’ll have no part in helping you put more shame on her!” But at the same time, the little man was grinning from ear to ear. 

Whatever was about to happen, he wagered it was going to be good.


	8. Homeric

Dressed in a long black skirt, dark purple blouse with her coat and hat on, Marianne hurried down the platform, her one bag clutched in her hands. Her heart hammered in her chest and tears filled her vision. She felt torn in two, wanted to stay with Bog--the memory of last night lingered on her lips and skin and in her heart--but she felt burdened with the shame of thinking her husband was a coward, a coward who wouldn’t fight for her. She had thought about trying to see Dawn, maybe speak to her sister about all of this, but there was no way she could get to her sister without their brother finding out. And then... 

Marianne closed her eyes and stopped for a moment to gather herself again. This was her only option she told herself again, just as she had told herself over a hundred times since she had left Bog sleeping, naked in their bed, looking...looking... 

She swallowed and angrily brushed away the tears on her cheeks, tried to dismiss the image that rose in her mind of her husband with his dark hair across his brow, his face relaxed in sleep, his naked body in their bed. 

Looking behind her to see if anyone saw her, Marianne hurriedly walked the platform stopping at one of the cars. She felt upset that Bog hadn’t come looking for her, but part of her was glad she wasn’t getting caught. God, her emotions were so mixed up! She yanked the door open, tossed her bag into the compartment, got on, and sat down with a huff. 

* 

Near the engine, the engine driver, Mr. Costello, adjusted his blue and white train engineer cap on his head, a grin on his wizened old face as he looked down the platform to make sure that anyone taking the train was on the train. Standing by the engine and looking annoyed was the railway porter looking smart in his navy blue uniform. The young man glanced down pointedly at his pocket watch that he had just made a show of pulling from his vest pocket. He looked down at the time, then glared at the driver who only grinned at him before he yelled for no one's benefit but himself and the porter. “Well, we’re off!” 

“And might I suggest Mr. Costello...” The porter tapped the face of his watch for emphasis. “...that the train, already being four and a half hours late, that it be about time you got off.” Mr. Bailey, the porter, gave Mr. Costello an annoyed look as he held his watch out, showing the older man the time as evidence of his annoyance. 

Costello, a man always ready for a good argument, leaned out of the engine cab and growled casually. “Now, is it my fault Mr. Bailey that there’s a hurling match at Ballygar and that the champions of all Ireland…” 

Mr. Costello was interrupted by the train guard, Mr. Molouney, who came strolling over at a brisk pace, clearly happy to get involved in a heated discussion no matter the topic. And since this was a topic he was clearly well versed in, he had no problem adding, “If you knew your country’s history as well as you claim to know it Mr. Bailey, you’d know that the Mayo hurlers haven't been beaten west of the Shannon for the last twenty-two years!” He delivered this bit of news as if anyone and everyone should know this. Mr. Bailey looked even more annoyed at Mr. Molouney than he had with Mr. Costello. 

The men’s loud discussion drew a crowd of the train station regulars as Mr. Costello yelled his agreement to make sure everyone heard him while he nodded, “True Mr. Molouney!” 

“That’s a lie Costello!” Bailey yelled--fighting words to be sure--as Costello and Molouney both glared at Bailey and began to remove their hats. Bailey, who looked more annoyed, removed his own hat while Molouney took off his glasses. 

Mr. Bailey had just started to remove his jacket when they all saw an extremely tall man on a handsome black hunter come racing down alongside the train. With an elegant leap, he was off the horse to land nimbly on his feet when he arrived at the platform, and started to march with purpose down the length of the train. He cut through the small crowd around the engine as if they weren’t even there. The horse turned and headed back the direction from which he had come. 

They all turned to watch as the tall, dark haired man dress in grey slacks, a blue shirt and grey vest, and wearing a cap on his head, began yanking the doors of the train cars open. He would glance inside and then slam the doors shut when he didn’t find whatever or whoever he was looking for. 

* 

Marianne heard the sound of doors slamming and looked out the train window, her eyes going wide and her heart leaping into her throat when she saw Bog. The man was clearly angry and moving with purpose, a dark cloud hanging around him. Even from here she could see the fire in his blue eyes. 

She ducked down, but she couldn’t stop the thrill of excitement and happiness at seeing him. 

* 

Bog continued until he saw her, just the top of her head, but he knew it was Marianne. His heart, which was already beating wildly, sped up at the sight of her, ducking down and trying to hide from him. Well, he loved her and he wasn’t about to lose her! 

He didn't say a word as he yanked the door to the train car open. Marianne looked up at him with those large brown eyes, those same eyes that just the night before had looked at him with such love. 

He reached in, grabbed Marianne by her wrist, and yanked her out of the train without waiting to see if she had her footing or not. 

Marianne just barely had the presence of mind to grab her bag when Bog grabbed her wrist, but as Bog hauled her out of the train, she dropped her bag when he flung her onto the platform. He swung her out without a word even as Marianne yanked back against him, flinging herself around one of the station poles which brought her and Bog face to face. 

For a moment they stared at each other. 

Bog’s expression softened and the fury in his eyes died a little as he gazed at her. Marianne saw the love in his eyes, love, lust, and anger in equal measure. For a moment she thought he might kiss her, but then to her surprise he let go of her hand only to grab her by the front of her jacket and hauled her away from the pole, quickly switching his hold back to her wrist and started to haul her once more across the platform, with Marianne stumbling behind him, but she had a secret smile on her lips. 

He’d come for her! 

Bog walked with purpose, dragging Marianne behind him without a word and without stopping, forcing her to jump over luggage on the platform as people started to come off the train or whom were waiting on the platform fell into step behind the couple. A small group of people followed the couple to see what exactly was going going to happen since everyone knew who Marianne Danaher was and everyone had heard she’d married the yank Bog King--who was currently dragging her by her hand like a naughty child. 

As Bog hauled Marianne past the train engine, Mr. Costello jumped off with Mr. Molouney, who grinned while he grabbed his coat that he had taken off and quickly put it back on. “Oh if this means what I hope it means…” 

Mr. Bailey, who had taken off his jacket and vest, was quickly pulling them back on behind Molouney as Costello grinned. “Danaher vicey-versus the yank! There’ll be wings on the green this day!!” 

Bog turned, walking through the gate and out of the station, pulling Marianne along, not stopping or making sure she wasn’t going to run into anything. Instead he forced her to jump and dance around anything that was in her way as he strode along with purpose, his long legs eating up the distance quickly, all while forcing Marianne to partially run or to trip and be dragged behind him as he headed into Castletown. 

Bog, with Marianne and a half-dozen people from the station, continued to march, moved by Reverend Playfair who sat in his car. He had just arrived at the station to pick up the Bishop who currently sat in the back of his car. As they passed the vehicle, Bog smiled at the Bishop and the Reverend, reaching up to touch his cap and call out. 

“Good morning!” Bog smiled cheerfully at them both. 

But he didn’t stop. Marianne had finally pushed Bog to his limit, but she had also made him realize something, that she was worth fighting for and by God, he was going to fight and that included fighting her if need be. She thought he was a coward and had brought shame on her; well...he’d show her shame he thought with a grin. Playfair watched with a wide, surprised smile as Bog, Marianne, and the crowd they were gathering behind them all paused long enough to say good morning to them as they passed and then hurried off in the direction of Innisfree. 

The Bishop lightly tapped the Reverend on the shoulder. “What on earth is going on Playfair?” 

Playfair grinned. “Well sir, it’s hard to explain…” 

* 

Sunny’s eyes went wide as he stood by the phone, the receiver to his ear. He’d stopped to have a quick word with Thaine. News had already spread about Marianne leaving Bog because she was ashamed of her new husband, and heading to Dublin. Dawn was heartbroken and Sunny was in shock. He’d wanted to talk to Thaine in more detail before he sought out Bog, when the call had come in. As he was closest to the phone at the time, he’d answered it only to hear Hugh Forbes on the other end. “He came and got her!!” the other man yelled into the receiver. 

“What are you talking about Hugh?” Sunny asked, glancing into the pub as everyone turned toward him. They didn’t get a great many calls in Innisfree, which was why the pub had the only phone in town. 

He put his hand on the receiver to inform everyone who was calling. “It’s Hugh from the station.” 

“What’s he on about?” Owen asked, a low hum of mutters from the other men in the pub echoing his question. 

“Hugh, what are you on about?” Sunny asked again, he needed to head back to the Danaher farm or Brutus would have his hide. 

“It’s the yank! He came down to the station and plucked Marianne Danaher off the train!” Hugh yelled. “They left five minutes ago!” 

Sunny’s eyes widened in shock, but a pleased grin spread across his face as listened to Hugh before he nodded. “Right, thanks.” He hung up and turned to the expectant crowd. “It’s Bog, he went and fetched Marianne off the train and he’s walking her back, the whole long way! They just left the station five minutes ago!” 

Thaine, who had been sitting at the bar grinned broadly. “It’s Homeric, that’s what it is, Homeric!” he declared with clear delight. 

Sunny rushed over to Thaine. “We need to post a lookout at Maam Cross, they may go home first.” 

Thaine turned to the bartender. “Pat! Where’s your parabellum?” 

Pat the barkeep pointed at a far wall where a pistol was mounted on the wall. “In the same place.” 

Thaine rushed over where he quickly pulled the pistol down and held it up as he announced. “One if by land, two if by sea! And if it’s Danaher’s I’ll fire the lot, horse, hoof, and ashes!” 

Pat grinned and called out with pleasure. “What a day for Innisfree!! On a day like this I can only say one thing! Gentlemen, the drinks are on the house!” 

Everyone went quiet and stared at Pat as if he had lost his mind. Pat frowned, then muttered exasperated. “Well, they are.” 

* 

Before rushing to his look out point on the road, Thaine made a detour home first. Steffie would tan his hide if he didn’t make sure she knew what was going on right away. Besides, this was going to be Homeric! He was sure of it and who better to share something so epic with than his wife and best friend? 

He arrived at his tiny stone house to find his wife out in the yard, hanging up the freshly washed sheets to dry. He was distracted from his task for a moment as he watched her from the fence, humming pleasantly to herself. They were much older now than when they had married, but coming up on her like this, when she didn’t know he was there, gave him a chance to just watch her and appreciate what a lucky man he was to have fallen for such a wonderful woman--and for her to have accepted him. 

Grinning, he took a breath. “Woman!! Stop what yer doing!” Thaine yelled as he came around the stone fence and into the yard. 

Steffie looked over at her husband as if he’d grown another head. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, turning with her fists on her hips, her eyes landing on the pistol Thaine was carrying. 

Her eyebrows shot up a little further. “You’ll shoot your eye out with that. Isn’t that Pat’s?” 

“Now see here…” Thaine began, but just as quickly stopped himself because they could argue about the gun another time. Right now there were more important things afoot. 

“Bog fetched Marianne from the station,” he said with a grin. 

Steffie’s eyes widened. “What?” 

He nodded and chuckled. “And he’s walking her back the whole way. Hugh called from the station.” 

Steffie clapped her hands. “I knew that boy had it in him! Where are they?” 

“Don’t know, but I’m to give the signal.” He grinned, holding up the gun. 

“Well, what are we waiting for? Come on!” Steffie hurried out of the yard, her laundry forgotten, her husband chuckling as he followed her. 

* 

Bog continued to pull Marianne along behind him. They had walked through Castletown and now Bog had gone off the main road and headed into the field, dragging his wife with him. He was determined to set things right and nothing was going to stop him. 

The crowd behind them had grown larger with each passing mile. H,e’d only glanced back once, but he was pretty sure the entirety of Castletown was following them. As they ducked under some tree branches and passed from the paved road and into the field, Marianne stumbled. She didn’t fall down, but her shoe came off. 

Bog didn’t stop. 

“My shoe!” she shouted as she tried to twist around, but Bog was having none of it and continued to walk with a determined stride. 

She tried to yank on Bog’s arm, tried to pull herself free from his grip while also struggling to twist around, maybe stop for just a moment so she could retrieve her shoe, but Bog didn’t answer her, didn’t look at her; he simply ignored her and simply kept walking. Marianne yelped and stumbled when her bare foot hit a stone, hopping up on one leg, but Bog didn’t stop, and he didn’t slow down. 

The crowd that was following behind them continued to give chase though Mr. Molouney stopped to pick up Marianne’s shoe with one of the women yelling out. 

“Ma’am, darlin!! Your shoe!” 

Marianne continued hopping on one foot just as Bog came over the top of a small hill, but as he started to descend, it was here that Marianne finally lost her footing and fell forward, though Bog’s grip on her arm didn’t loosen. 

He turned to look down at her. 

Marianne looked up at him with a scowl and for a moment their eyes met. Marianne thought for a second that Bog was going to stop and at least let her get her shoe, but a feral grin spread across his face that made his blue eyes dance. Instead he turned away from her, his grip on her wrist never wavering, and started walking again, dragging Marianne on her stomach down the hill, while the watching crowd waited at the top of the hill, everyone holding their breath. 

Marianne shrieked. “WHY YOU!!” 

Grinning, Bog dragged her down the hill. He stopped at the bottom, and only then did he finally let her go, but only so he could haul her to her feet. 

Bog grinned at her cheerfully, especially when he saw the mix of exasperated pleasure blended nearly seamlessly with anger on Marianne’s pretty face. 

“Bog King, you better…” she started, but Bog only grinned a little wider and spoke over her, his voice light, cheerful even. If she didn’t know any better, Marianne would think he was enjoying himself. “It’s only five miles,” he said before he grabbed Marianne by the upper arms and tossed her in front of him calling out with a smirk. “It’s just a good stretch of the legs!” 

Marianne let out an exasperated grunt at having her words tossed back at her. 

Before she could recover, Bog marched up to her and grabbed Marianne by her wrist once more and started his march across the fields, pulling her along. 

The crowd at the top of the hill raced down after them with Mr. Molouney catching up to hand Marianne her missing shoe. “Pardon me ma’am! You’ve lost your shoe!” 

Marianne reached behind her to grab the shoe with a smile. “Thank you very kindly sir!” 

She tried to get her shoe on while Bog was dragging her, once more hopping on one foot while trying to slip the shoe on, but she couldn’t quite accomplish the task; hopping on one foot and being yanked along making it nearly impossible. Glaring at Bog’s back, Marianne decided to simply drop her weight, thus breaking Bog’s hold on her. 

She landed on her rear, but at least she could get her shoe back on. 

Marianne started to quickly put her shoe back on, but Bog, not willing to wait on her, grabbed her by the back of her jacket’s collar, and began to drag her on her rear through the grass. 

Marianne let out a frustrated shout, but at least she’d got her shoe on. “Bog King!” 

Bog released her when she shouted his name, but not before he grabbed her by her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. For a second Marianne thought he was going to speak to her, finally, and that he’d stopped with the dragging, but just as she opened her mouth to say something, anything to him, Bog grabbed her by her shoulders and tossed her in front of him. Marianne let out an unladylike squawk of surprise. 

The bastard was still grinning too! 

Marianne spun around to face her husband with a growl, her notorious temper rising quickly to the surface. Oh, she’d been plenty happy when he’d come for her, but really, enough was enough! 

Dragging her back to Innisfree like she was a sack of potatoes?! 

When she stumbled away from him after he’d tossed her, Marianne narrowed her eyes and with her anger fueling her, she balled her hand into a fist and took a swing at him. It wasn’t the best swing, but she wasn’t really sure if she wanted to hit him or not. Still, she was damn tired of him dragging her home without saying a word to her! 

Putting her entire body into the swing, Marianne wasn’t prepared for Bog--especially considering how tall he was--to simply duck under her swing, but that was exactly what he did. He ducked! Marianne had put her entire body into the swing, so when she didn’t connect with anything, her body twisted around, exposing her back to her husband. Bog, with a grin on his face, gave her a light kick in the rear, not enough to hurt her or knock her down, just a playful thump with the side of his booted foot before he once more grabbed her--this time by the lapel of her jacket and continued where they left off. He forced her to keep pace with him as he stomped across the field. 

Marianne let out an irritated hiss, but Bog was a great deal stronger than her and simply kept walking. 

The crowd behind them had stopped to watch the little exchange. Everyone was grinning as they waited to see where this little tiff between the two newlyweds--a fiery Danaher and a big yank--was going to go. 

* 

It wasn’t long before they were on the Old Bog Road heading into Innisfree, Bog marching down another hill to the old path, Marianne forced to keep pace. 

They had just gotten onto the old road when an older woman came rushing forward yelling. 

“Sir! Sir!! Here is a good stick to beat the lovely lady!” The older woman knew, or at least had heard all about who Marianne and Brutus Danaher were, the yank who married her, and the missing fortune. She’d also heard this morning about how Marianne Danaher had tried to leave her husband because she was ashamed of him, which truly confused the older woman; he seemed like a nice boy. But sometimes, as with children… 

Bog chuckled, taking the stick and gave it a good swish through the air. 

“Thank you,” he replied cheerfully to the old woman while Marianne looked at him with a cross between of anger, (a clear threat to Bog’s health in her brown gaze if he dared to hit her with the stick), and maybe a little doubt as to whether Bog would ever do such a thing! 

Bog only smiled at her in response as he gave the stick another good swish through the air, his answering grin and sparking blue eyes filled with mischief which gave Marianne no indication which way her husband would go. 

For some reason, despite her still building anger, she smiled. 

* 

At the pub in Innisfree, everyone waited, drinking slowly. A tension had fallen heavy over the room. There was a low vibration, like a spark, just waiting to be lit by the sound of Thaine’s gunshots, to send them all into action. Everyone sipped their drinks, ears open, waiting, looking toward the pub door... 

When they all heard the sound of two gunshots echoing from outside, Sunny was the first to put his pint down and sprint for the door (he had wanted to go back to tell Dawn what was up, but didn’t want to alert Brutus to anything being amiss. He had a feeling the tension between Bog, Brutus, and Marianne was about to come to a head and he hoped that Brutus Danaher was about to get what was coming to him!) The rest of the pub’s occupants rose almost in unison behind him. They were all close on Sunny’s heels, all of them spilling outside onto the street. The accordion player from inside the pub began to play the moment they were on the street, providing a cheerful accompaniment to whatever was going to happen. 

Pat hurriedly followed the others, grabbing his sign on the way out and pulled his door closed, dropping the sign that read “Gone to Tea” on the doorknob before he hurried off after the others. 

The accordion played a cheerful tune behind him, all of them following Sunny down the road. 

Whatever was about to happen, it was going to be good! 

* 

As Bog and Marianne approached Innisfree on the Old Bog Road, a large crowd of people collected from across the countryside, nearly every resident in Innisfree came cheering down the road toward them. The crowd parted to allow Bog to drag Marianne through, melding with the crowd from Castletown behind the newlyweds while Bog dragged Marianne up the hill toward the Danaher farm. 

* 

Brutus was outside with Packy and the rest of his hired help around the new steam powered thresher he’d just purchased, going over how much hay he wanted finished in the field before supper, or at least what they hoped to finish with the new thresher machine. Dawn was outside, putting some laundry up to dry when she heard the sounds of an approaching crowd. She pulled the shirts aside and looked out. Her eyes widened when she saw Bog marching toward them with an exhausted Marianne in tow and half the population of Ireland behind them. 

The men all heard the shouts and cheers of the crowd with Packy saying mildly to Brutus who was turning slowly at the sound. “I think your in-laws are coming to visit you Squire darlin.” Brutus looked stunned for a moment, but quickly hid the expression as he saw Bog hauling Marianne with him, marching across his field with probably the largest crowd he’d ever seen. Dawn rushed over and tugged on her brother’s shirt sleeve. “What’s going on?” 

Brutus grumbled under his breath and admitted, “I’ve no idea.” 

Dawn took a step back as Bog and Marianne crested the hill, stopping just a few steps from Brutus. Bog’s expression darkened, but there was a twinkle in his eyes as if something had completely shifted in the man. He held Marianne by her wrist and for a moment, no one said anything; even the crowd behind them went quiet. 

Brutus narrowed his eyes, watching the other man while Dawn looked at her sister in confusion, but Marianne’s eyes were on Bog. Her heart beating wildly, her pulse racing as she waited to see what he was going to do. 

“Danaher…” Bog’s voice ran out clearly, everyone could hear him. “You owe me 350 pounds. Let’s have it.” 

Marianne’s eyes widened as she pressed her lips together, fighting against the smile that pulled at her lips. She glanced from her husband to her brother, then back to Bog. 

Brutus looked over the crowd, his attention being drawn to Thaine who came closer with his wife next to him, the regulars from the pub behind him. He saw Sunny among the pub crowd and his eyes narrowed more. Everyone waited in silence for what he was going to say in response. The Danaher temper began to turn Brutus’s ears red as he growled at Bog. 

“I’ll pay you--never,” he ground out, loud and clear. 

No one made a sound. This was the moment of truth, what would the yank do? Honor their customs? Leave with Marianne? Would she leave with him after pushing for this very confirmation by leaving her new husband? 

It was anyone’s guess. 

Bog narrowed his blue eyes and said calmly, “That breaks all bargains.” 

A shared gasp rippled through the crowd. 

Marianne’s eyes widened at Bog’s response, but she couldn’t reply because Bog tossed her toward her brother. The sudden fling was so unexpected that Marianne tripped and fell at Brutus’s feet even as Dawn gasped loudly, her hands going to her mouth. 

“You can take your sister back,” Bog declared loudly. “It’s your custom, not mine.” 

He made sure to add the last even as his eyes caught Marianne’s gaze. She stared back at him for a moment in shock, but at the same time she saw something in his gaze before he turned back to her brother. “No fortune, no marriage. We call it quits,” Bog declared, but his gaze flicked back to her and Marianne knew that he understood. This had never been about whether or not Bog loved her, this had been about respect and courage. 

She stood up slowly. Her voice broke only slightly, her emotions like a storm in her chest as she asked firmly, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You would do this to me? Your own wife? After…” She wanted to say after last night, but she couldn’t. Instead she pressed her lips together and waited for Bog’s response. 

Bog glared at her, but she could see something in his eyes, something...hurt, but firm as he growled back at her, because this moment could go one of two ways: either her brother capitulated and gave Bog her fortune, or they were lost. 

“It’s done,” Bog said in a loud, firm tone, his voice carrying for all to hear. 

Behind them the crowd waited with bated breath to see what Brutus Danaher was going to do. 

Bog had forced him to either look like a fool, a dishonest, stubborn fool who had just shamed his sister, or he would be forced to give the yank what was owed him and maintain some of his dignity. 

Brutus glared at the crowd around them, his anger rising. He knew he was trapped. He felt angry because Bog had brought his sister back and humiliated them both in front of everyone, had put his honor on the line, forcing him into the only decision he could make and save face. Pulling his wallet out from his back pocket, Brutus dug into it and yanked out the entire 350 pounds in bills. He threw the wad at Bog’s feet. “There, there’s your dirty money, now take it! Count it you spawn! Show them all that I ain’t cheated you! And look, if ever I see that face of yours again I’ll push that through it!” He brought his fist up for emphasis. 

Bog didn’t smile, but his eyes met Marianne’s and he knew he had done the right thing. Walking with determination, Bog picked up the money with a glance toward Marianne. Her eyes widened a fraction and her breath caught. She knew without a shred of doubt he loved her. He was doing all this because he loved her. Bog King may not fully understand their customs, but he loved her enough that he’d dragged her here to throw her at her brother’s feet and demand her fortune for her, to demand the respect that she deserved. He’d brought her here like this to force her brother to give them what they were owed! They both understood, it was her brother’s respect and her husband’s courage she wanted, not the money. Bog gave them both to her, proving that he loved her, loved her more than anything else in this world. 

Tears burned her eyes as Bog walked toward her with the money in hand, and she understood, understood that he loved her and that the money meant nothing to him, but she did. Her love and respect meant more to him than money ever could. He loved her and only her. This entire show had been for her brother’s benefit and she knew exactly what Bog was going to do. 

With a smile on her face, Marianne rushed over to the thresher and pulled open the door to the furnace which burned brightly in the machine. They looked at each other, sharing a smile just before Bog tossed the entire bundle of money into the furnace. 

Marianne’s smile was brilliant. 

Bog reached for her, pulling her to him, and they stared at each other as he reached up and caressed the side of her face, her leaning into his touch before they both turned and started to walk away from the furnace past her brother. 

Brutus growled. How dare he burn his money, further humiliating him in front of everyone!! 

The big man, in his blind anger, took a swing at Bog. The tall man ducked the punch and responded with an uppercut to Brutus’s diaphragm, knocking the big man to the ground. 

Marianne was grinning from ear to ear. She walked up to her husband and said with a barely contained smirk. “I think I’ll be going on home now. I’ll have the supper ready for you when you get back.” She turned, giving everyone in the crowd a smirk, the pride in her husband and the beating she was sure her brother was finally going to get, shining in her brown eyes. 

Dawn giggled as Marianne marched down the hill, heading toward her home. She glanced back at her brother before she hurried off after Marianne. When she caught up with her sister, the two women locked arms and continued to Marianne’s home. 

The crowd parted for the two sisters. Bog watched Marianne, his expression slightly confused, but before he could contemplate on what had just happened Brutus got to his feet and slammed his fist into the side of Bog’s head, knocking the tall man to the grass. 

“That was a dirty blow!” Sunny shouted, pushing his way through the crowd to get to Bog and help him to his feet. 

Bog got to his feet, though his attention was distracted as he glanced over at his wife’s retreating back, a silly grin on his face before he turned back to face Brutus. The crowd formed a ring around to two men as Bog flexed his fingers. He supposed this fight was a long time coming, might as well get on with it, but Bog found himself feeling at ease. He wasn’t fighting for money, he didn’t want to kill Brutus, just wanted the man’s respect--and if a few good punches were what it was going to take, well so be it. 

“All right Brutus, you asked for it,” Bog said with a grin. 

Bog swung, his right hook catching Brutus across the jaw, but Brutus took the punch and responded. His first one missed Bog, who weaved out of the way of the first one, but Brutus surprised him with a powerful left hook across the jaw. They exchanged a few quick hits, the crowd cheering and shouting around them while the two men weaved and swung, hitting each other hard enough that they sent each other stumbling and rolling down the hill. 

Thaine started to yell out as the fight started to move. “3-to-1! I’m giving on Danaher! 3-to-1 on Danaher!!’ 

Steffie grabbed her husband’s arm. “Put ten pounds on King.” 

Thaine blinked at his wife, who never bet on anything and always got after him when he did. “Are you sure Steffie?” he asked bewildered. 

“Don't be an eejit Thaine, ten on King!” She gave him a playful smack on the arm. 

Thaine snickered, writing down his wife’s bet while he yelled. “Done! Anyone else favor me friend the yank?!” 

Sunny yelled. “Ten for me as well on King!” 

Thaine chuckled writing it down. 

* 

The fight had made it down to where several large bales of hay rested. Bog punched Brutus right in the nose, sending the older man stumbling back into the bale which fell apart the minute the big man fell into it. Bog grabbed Brutus, yanking the other man to his feet and punched him again, sending Brutus stumbling backwards into yet another bale. 

One of the crowd, thinking they were being helpful, threw a bucket of water in Brutus’ face just as Bog came through the crowd toward Brutus like an unstoppable wave, punching the man again. 

Sunny was jumping up and down trying to see what was happening as Bog and Brutus became lost for a moment in several large bales of hay as the fight exploded with the crowd half watching the fight and half participating as hay was thrown about and other fights started among the men who were watching for no other reason than pure excitement. Sunny ducked and dodged several swings, trying to see where Bog and Brutus had gotten to as the fight turned into a free-for-all with punches, kicks, and even some biting going on among everyone else. 

Thaine sighed, seeing that things were getting out of hand (and no one was even drunk.) This would completely skew the betting. He pulled Pat’s gun out, climbed into a wagon and shot the pistol into the air, drawing everyone’s attention. 

* 

“All right, all right, that’s enough!” Thaine shouted. “Gentlemen, if you please, this is a private fight! The Marquess of Queensberry rules...” (The twelve rule boxing code for the sport of boxing that everyone knew.) “...will be observed on all occasions!” 

* 

Over in the now demolished bales of hay, Packy was helping to pull Brutus out, a grin on his face as he informed his boss gleefully, knowing that now Brutus couldn’t cheat. “The Marquess of Queensberry rules, mind you now Squire.” 

* 

Bog was more than a little familiar with the rules as he started to push himself up out of the hay. “Okay with me Thaine!” he yelled just as someone decided to toss a bucket of water into his face like they’d done for Brutus, causing Bog to blubber for a moment wiping his face between laughing. “Thanks, I guess.” 

He got to his feet just as Thaine was yelling out. “Non-belligerents will kindly remain in neutral!” This was met by a round of sighs and muttered disappointment while Thaine directed his attention to Bog and Brutus. “Now, shake hands and come out fighting!” 

Brutus grinned, yelling out for the crowd. “Ya hear that everybody?! The Marquess of Queensberry rules!” 

Packy repeated loudly for everyone's benefit even though everyone had heard Thaine clearly. “The Marquess of Queensberry Rules.” 

While Bog murmured, turning to the crowd, repeating, “Marquess of Queensberry Rules…” to assure everyone he knew the rules, but when he turned back around Brutus kicked him in the face knocking him back into several members of the crowd. Kicking was not part of the rules. 

Leaping to his feet Bog responded with a hard right cross to Brutus’s face and once more, the rules were forgotten even as Bog grabbed Brutus, pulling the man up by his shirt to punch him in the face again and growled. “Come on, get up, Marquess of Queensberry and all…” He emphasized his statement by punching Brutus in the face again, sending the man reeling into the crowd. 

* 

Across the way, at the Widow Tillane’s home, she had her spyglasses out and was watching the fight with Mrs. Playfair who had come over for tea. The two women stood by the window looking out when the news had quickly arrived at her home of what was happening between Bog King and Brutus Danaher. 

The widow was grinning from ear to ear as she exclaimed excitedly while watching the fight. “I hope King beats him senseless!” Her tone filled with breathless excitement. Mrs. Playfair gasped. “Mr. King is a married man you know.” 

The Widow Tillane looked over at Mrs. Playfair. “Oh, who cares about him.” The excitement in her expression was clear, her eyes dancing as she said with pleasure. “It’s that big, bellowing bully that concerns me.” She chuckled, turning her attention back to the fight, repeating what Brutus had said to her once under her breath. “I’m the best man in Innisfree, like I didn’t know that...” 

Mrs. Playfair raised an eyebrow at her friend, a knowing smirk dancing on her lips as she turned her attention back to the fight. 

* 

The fight began to proceed across the field onto the Old Bog road, heading into the village as Reverend Playfair and the Bishop stopped on the bridge, having driven toward Innisfree as fast as they could. The fight was still in the fields when the two men stopped on the bridge, both of them jumping out of the car to watch the fight. 

The Bishop watched intently while grinning. “5-to-1 on the big chap!” he declared. 

The Reverend Playfair was grinning as he put his hand out to the Bishop. “Giving or taking?” 

“Giving,” the Bishop said shaking the Reverend’s hand on the deal just as Bog gave Brutus an uppercut that sent the other man into the river. 

Brutus stumbled to his feet, the water here, thankfully, only to his ankles as he got up, blustering. Bog watched from the bank with a grin, blood running down his chin and staining his teeth as he watch Brutus right himself. 

Soaking wet Brutus worked his jaw for a moment before he asked Bog hopefully, “Had enough?” 

Grinning Bog shook his head, licking blood off his lips and answered. “Nope.” 

Sighing, clearly hoping that Bog was done fighting, Brutus rubbed his face before walking over to the edge of the water. “Well, give a man a hand then.” He put his hand out and Bog reached out to grab it to help Brutus back onto the bank. The moment Bog had pulled Brutus back onto the back, Brutus slugged him, sending Bog stumbling into the crowd. 

Sunny ran over to Thaine. “Another ten on Bog!” 

Thaine was standing on the edge of the crowd, figuring out the odds as other men ran over thrusting money at Thaine and yelling out their bets as the fight moved further into the village. 

* 

Inside one of the homes, Father Paul was reading from the last rites over the elderly Mr. Feenley who was needing the last rites read to him at least once a week for the last couple of years, when the shouts and cheering of the fight drifted into the house. 

Father Paul ran out the door, looking to see the crowd on the main street moving into the center of the village. The old man hopped out of bed and stumbled outside behind Father Paul, both men standing in the side street and watched as the fight between King and Danaher, along with the huge crowd, moved down the main road. 

Mr. Feenley ran back in, grabbed his pants and ran outside again to follow the crowd, yelling out bets when he saw Thaine,while Father Paul ran in the other direction looking for Father Lonergan who he knew was down at the other river fishing for that darn salmon he’d been trying to catch for as long as the younger clergyman could remember. 

He found Father Lonergan where he knew he’d been, fishing pole in hand. “FATHER!! FATHER LONERGAN!! There’s a big fight…” 

“Shhh...” Father Lonergan hissed at the younger man. “There’s a big fight in this fish right here.” He pointed at the river while looking at the young man as if he was crazy. 

Still breathless, Father Paul spoke quickly. “I would have put a stop to it, but…” 

“Now you do that lad...it’s your duty.” Father Lonergan nodded, his attention on the water. 

“But Father!! Danaher and Bog King!!” Paul protested. 

“Who?” Lonergan’s eyes widened in shock. 

“Danaher and Bog King!!” Father Paul shouted. 

Father Lonergan raged a half-second later. “Well why didn’t you tell me?!!” He threw his fishing pole down and both men raced toward the fight. 

* 

The fight had made it to the main square and was now in front of Pat’s pub. So many people crowded around the two men that it was hard to see, but Father Lonergan took a short cut, coming up on the other end of the fight just as Bog slugged Brutus across the face, sending the other man stumbling back. Father Lonergan was grinning as he watched the fight, confusing poor Father Paul who asked, “Father, shouldn’t I put a stop to it now?” 

His attention fully on the fight, Father Lonergan nodded. “Aye, we should lad, yes we should…” The older man was weaving a bit with the punches the two men were exchanging even as he muttered. “It’s our duty...oh...that was a good one.” 

* 

Bog punched Brutus, a good one, knocking the older man off his feet, dazing him. When Brutus didn’t look like he was going to get right up, Packy started to yell at him. “Get up or are you a lazy man?! Come on!” One of the crowd decided to be helpful by grabbing a bucket and dipping it into the water trough by the pub for horses and threw the water in Brutus’ exasperated face. 

During the breather, while Brutus was being pulled to his feet, Bog wiped the blood from his nose, grinned at Thaine who was just at the edge of the crowd. “Thaine!! How’s the betting going?” 

“Even money Bog, even money!” Thaine called out gleefully. “But don’t ruin me!” 

Bog laughed as he hurried over to Brutus who seemed to be able to stand on his own again. “You’re a good fighting man Danaher, I’ll say that for you.” Bog smiled a bloody smile, his blue eyes dancing with pleasure. 

Brutus laughed. “Well, if it comes to that, it's been a pleasure beating you.” 

He followed his statement by punching Bog in the gut. The punch knocked Bog back into the crowd, who caught him with the same men who thought throwing water on Brutus was helping, throwing water on Bog who gasped in surprise. 

* 

Thaine was trying to figure out his books when Sunny yelled. “Another twenty on King!!” 

Thaine fluttered his hand at the other man. “No, no, the book is closed,” he muttered, but just as Sunny moved away Packy hurried over and whispered, making sure Brutus didn’t see him as he hissed. “A pound on King against the squire.” 

Thaine looked scandalized. “Oooh, you traitor you…” He grabbed Packy’s money. “Give me that.” 

* 

Sunny and Owen raced over putting themselves between Bog and Brutus. Both men were bloody, wet, and bruised. 

Owen called out. “How about a drink before you kill yourself?” He pointed at the pub where they were now all standing. 

Pat added loudly. “The drinks will be on the house!” 

Sunny smiled at his cousin. “I think it’s a very good idea Bog. I heard that the people from Ballyglunin are coming by bus, thousands of them and the inspector put money down on you.” Sunny grinned, patting Bog on the chest. 

Brutus rubbed his sore jaw, the taste of blood coppery in his mouth. “Ya know, that’s a good idea, not that I’m tired mind you. I’m as fresh as a daisy.” He narrowed his eyes, daring anyone to say otherwise. 

Laughing, Bog shook his head. “You look more like a black-eyed Susan, but let’s go.” He turned and walked into the pub, holding the door for Brutus. 

* 

Watching not far away, the Bishop asked, “Are they going into a public house?” 

Reverend Playfair nodded. “Yes your lordship.” 

“Does that mean the fight’s over?” he asked with a frown. 

“No no, that’s just the end of round one,” Playfair said with a grin. 

* 

Sunny and Owen stood in front of the pub preventing anyone but Pat to enter. “All right, keep away, let them have their drink in peace…” 

* 

Pat hurried behind the bar. “Now a whisky? No, no, that’ll get your blood up. Porters the very thing…” He proceeded to set out the glasses and pour Brutus and Bog their drinks. 

Brutus sighed, licking the blood from the corner of his mouth. “It’s peaceful and quiet in here isn't it?” he asked with a smile. 

Bog nodded his understanding, wiping blood from his upper lip. “Sure is…” He picked up his drink, taking a sip as Brutus said with a smile, “You know…” He stopped with a frown, reaching into his mouth to wiggle a tooth before he spat it out, the bloody tooth bouncing on the bar counter and disappearing over the edge. “...this has been a fight I’d come a long way to see,” he said to Bog with a grin. 

Bog smirked at him. “Well, I hope you can stick around for the finish.” 

Taking a sip of his own drink Brutus gave Bog a side eyed glance. “Don’t worry about that.” 

They both quickly drank about half their Porter when Brutus said with humor.,“You know yank, I’ve taken quite a liking to youse.” 

Bog chuckled leaning with both hands on the counter. “You know, I’m getting real fond of you too.” 

Brutus continued with a grin. “Your widow, me sister, she could have done a lot worse.” 

Pat nodded. “True.” 

“Poor woman…” Brutus said with a shake of his head. 

Chuckling Bog shook his head. “Fill ‘em up again.” He motioned to the now empty glasses as he started to pull out his money, but Brutus shook his head. “You’ll buy me no drinks…” 

Pat added helpfully. “The drinks are on the house sir.” 

“And I’m taking no drinks from you, you little squint!” Brutus declared. 

Bog set his coin down on the counter. “I’m buying the drinks.” But Brutus swiped the money away. “You can buy me a drink at your wake and not before!!” Brutus tossed his own coins down on the counter. 

Bog slammed more coins down. “I’m buying!” 

Brutus picked up his Porter and tossed the liquid into Bog’s face. Bog sputtered then asked with a sigh, “Bar towel.” Pat tossed him the towel and Bog wiped the Porter off his face. When he was done he asked Pat, “What time is it?” 

“Half past five sir,” Pat replied. 

Bog grinned and turned, landing a right hook across Brutus’s jaw which had Brutus stumbling backwards, through the front door of the pub, and into the waiting crowd outside. 

* 

Later that afternoon Reverend Playfair was back at home after the fight had ended, checking the engine of his car when his wife came hurrying up the drive, wringing her hands and looking worried. “Dear, I hope you won't be cross with me…” 

The Reverend looked over at his wife as she said softly. “...I lost three pounds to the Widow Tillane. I know I shouldn’t have bet, but…” 

That was the moment the front door of their home opened and the Bishop came out and handed the Reverend a check. “There you go Playfair, fifteen pounds.” Playfair took the check with a grin as the Bishop turned to Mrs. Playfair. “Good afternoon Mrs. Playfair!” 

Mrs. Playfair looked over at her husband with a smirk. “Would your lordship like some tea?” she asked with a chuckle. 

* 

The sun was just beginning to set, casting a lovely glow on the landscape as Bog and Brutus, their arms around each other’s shoulders, stumbled drunkenly through the stream toward Bog’s cottage, both of them singing at the top of their lungs. Both men stumbled into the water, soaking their pants, then stood up and started again. 

Marianne heard the ruckus outside and stepped out the front door, a wide smile on her face when she saw her husband and her brother arm in arm, three sheets to the wind, which made her frown slightly, but they were arm in arm, friends. Grinning Marianne hurried inside, thankful that she had made enough supper for guests since she had hoped this might happen, well, maybe not with them both drunk, but… 

She stood back as Bog and Brutus stumbled inside, both men weaving for a moment as they stood in the room, wet, their clothing in disarray and Bog’s cap on backwards. They weaved in place for a moment more as Bog announced loudly. “Woman of the house! I have brought the brother home to supper! Your sister is making supper for my cousin or I’d have invited them too…” He frowned, looking confused for a moment before he smiled at her. 

Marianne beamed at both men. “He’s kindly welcome.” 

Brutus, drunk as a skunk and nearly in tears when he looked at his sister, a sob in his voice, said a little too loudly. “God bless all in this house!” 

Marianne glared at him. “Wipe your feet.” 

Brutus mumbled, “Thank you ma’am.” 

Bog stumbled, his hat falling off his head as he grabbed Brutus around the shoulders. “Sit down! Sit down brother, that’s what chairs are for!” 

Marianne was doing her best not to giggle at them as they both sat down, and they started into song again while Marianne began to set the food on the table, giggling the entire time as Brutus and Bog sang loudly. 

“There was a wild colonial boy, Jack Duggan was his name 

He was born and raised in Ireland in a place called Castlemaine 

He was his father's only son, his mother's pride and joy 

And dearly did his parents love the wild colonial boy...” 

* 

The next morning, Father Lonergan and a small crowd of people were waiting along the Old Bog road when Mrs. Playfair came racing up on her bicycle in a hurry. The crowd parted for her and she hopped off her bike, hurrying over to where Father Lonergan and Father Paul were waiting. She quickly whispered in the Father’s ear and he nodded, grinning before he hurried over to stand up on one of the many stone walls around the place. 

“Now,” he addressed the gathered crowd. “...when the Reverend Mr. Playfair, the good man that he is, comes down, I want you all to cheer like Protestants! Now spread out!” 

The crowd dispersed quickly along the road while Father Lonergan and Father Paul wrapped kerchiefs around their necks to hide their collars. A few moments later, Reverend Playfair came driving down the road with the Bishop heading toward Castletown and the train station. The moment everyone saw the car, Father Lonergan led them all in a cheer. Playfair was grinning as the Bishop nodded to the crowd. Playfair’s smile widened, knowing his place at Innisfree was now secure. 

* 

Not too far away, Thaine stopped the carriage that carried Brutus and the Widow Tillane. She was dressed in a lovely pink dress, a flowered bonnet on her head, with Brutus Danaher in his best suit, a bouquet of pink flowers in his hand, stopping so that they could wave to the Bishop as well. 

Thaine frowned looking at the two of them. He leaned over, deciding to remind the couple. “No patty fingers if you please, the proprieties at all times.” 

The widow looked both scandalized and delighted while Brutus looked shy and dumbfounded to finally find himself courting the woman he’d been in love with for years. Once the Bishop and Playfair were gone, Thaine continued down the Old Bog Road; the gathered crowd continued their cheering as the newly courting couple went by. 

* 

Having slipped away from the crowd, hidden under the trees, Sunny smiled and took Dawn’s hands in his, holding them to his lips. “Would you marry me?” he asked softly. 

Dawn giggled glancing in the direction her brother and the widow had gone with Thaine and nodded. “Oh yes Sunny, a hundred times yes.” 

Sunny pulled Dawn into his arms and kissed her long and deep. 

* 

Marianne and Bog stood outside their home, standing on the stones that made a path through the little stream, the Old Bog Road visible from where they stood watching and waving as the Bishop went by, followed a few minutes later by Brutus and the Widow Tillane. 

Marianne grinned; happiness infused her eyes and smile. She rose up on her toes and leaned on Bog’s shoulder watching her brother and the others all pass, when a glint of mischief sparkled in her brown eyes. 

She leaned close to Bog’s ear and whispered low and soft. “I’m not wearing any underwear.” 

Bog blinked and his smile turning into an expression of shock. 

She quickly hopped back and dashed along the rocks, stopping to look over her shoulder at Bog. 

Bog’s mouth had dropped open at the whispered words of his wife. He turned to see her waiting for him, her brown eyes dancing, the sun making her brown hair burn with fire. She winked at him and hurried across the rocks, jumping to the path and dashing up to their little cottage, while Bog, grinning happily, gave chase.


End file.
